Black Banners of War
by AstraMilitarum
Summary: A Rogue Trader Fleet, transporting an Imperial Guard Armored Company and a Skitarii Maniple, finds its place in the Mass Effect Universe. Lost from the sight of the Emperor and Omnissiah, the Imperials must brave this new world, finding a softer place than the Grim, Dark future.
1. Chapter 1: Arrival

Armageddon. The site of Angron's fury, the site of Ghazghkull's rage. A wartorn planet, torn between the Imperium, Daemons, and Orks.

Far away, in a dimension incomprehensible by any living mind, Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, observed this planet. He knew the future. He knew the past. He knew the present. Plot upon plots and plans upon plans piled up, each gambit more fantastic that the last. One plot in particular involved a son of Armageddon. In order for it to succeed, a certain Rogue Trader must never reach that war-torn planet. Casting his great power across the boundless Warp, Tzeentch found that Rogue Trader, and his fleet. With a infinitesimal flick of his boundless power, Tzeentch personally banished that fleet into another galaxy, another universe. Another time.

* * *

A great rift opened up in the heavens, as if reality itself was folding in on itself. Purple energies crackled, screams of daemons and destruction rang out, as a portal to the Warp was opened for the first time in this Galaxy's history. And, as quickly as the horrific noises, sights, sounds, and other _things_ beyond human comprehension started, they stopped. The portal had spat out three "small" ships: The Pride of Pollux, a Lunar-class Cruiser, the Flames of Darmok, and the Storm of Edda, two Firestorm-class Frigates. The fleet of Rogue Trader Constantios Pollux had emerged.

Void shields crackled as they died. Klaxons blared, lights flickering across the ship, worried Tech-priests lighting incense and offering prayers to the Machine Spirits. Systems never meant to be offline were non-functional. The Navigator of the Pride of Pollux was collapsed in his chair, shivering, murmuring to himself, robes wrapped around him, third eye blinking rapidly. Constantios Pollux, commander of these three vessels stood at the head of the bridge, foot resting on the Command chair, bellowing orders to the nearby crew. He was a giant of a man, standing nearly 7'1", augmented in many ways, none of them cosmetic. A white scar cross over a missing eye, replaced by a robotic one. A square face, stern and commanding. A Cadian Greatcoat hung off of his broad, armoured shoulders, a gift from that fallen planet. His voice was like the cracking of a whip, demanding a damage report, needing to know just what in the Emperor's name just happened. The Lord Trader was not a man to be trifled with.

"Kell! Patch me through to Darmok and Edda! I need to know what their status is! Alexios! Go and get Commander Miriael up here, now! I need to know the troops and crew survived. Magos, what does the Machine Spirit of the Pollux tell you? Have we angered her?"

Each Rogue trader vessel under the command of Pollux was in utter disarray, the simple, small Warp jump along safe lanes having gone horribly wrong. It had been a miracle that their Geller Fields had not failed.

"Lord Pollux, the Omnissiah has blessed us this day. We have not angered the great Machine Spirit of the Pollux. It is young, yet, and confused. It knows not where we are, or what has been done. Praise be to The Motive Force, it is with us and the Pollux: We will not fail today. Yet.. Lord Pollux, the Machine Spirit is unsure, surprised, disoriented. My priests and I will need time to repair the damages done."

The red cloaked Magos was the first to respond to Constantios, its voice crackling with static and modulating in pitch at worrying frequency. The servant of the Omnissiah was huge, standing taller than the large Rogue Trader, its hooded head almost brushing the ceiling. Cybernetic tentacles played with holos and levers, accessing a repair panel, interfacing with the Light Cruiser. Pollux gave the martian a curt nod, opening his mouth to respond, before being interrupted-Lady Commander Miriel of the Armageddon 547 Steel Legion had arrived.

"What in the Emperor's name is going on here Constantios? Where are we? I have several thousand battle ready troops, tanks. and transports down there, ready and waiting for battle, and all I hear are shutdown warnings? Do I need to prep the troops for an assault? Has the Archenemy or Ghazghkull's Orks attacked us?"

The Lady Commander was, in all ways, unremarkable. She was of average build, average height, and average looks. Brown hair was tightly bound up in a bun, a disproving frown permanently etched on her face. Placed on the ship to command the transported Guardsmen, she had spent the last three weeks aboard the vessel, preparing to load and unload the army currently waiting in the bowels of the ship. Constantios nodded at her approach: He respected the Commander, and knew her advice would not be misplaced.

"Lady Miriel. We seem to have lost our way in the Warp, and as you can see by my poor navigator, we won't be moving anytime soon. The Magos tells me that we have not suffered permanent damage, thank the Throne. Kell! Have you found our location yet?"

Officer Kell jumped at his superior's voice, nodding emphatically. Beckoning the Commander and Trader over, he eagerly showed them the starcharts that he had pulled up.

"As you can see, we aren't at Armageddon, that much is for sure. But according to this, we should be close to Holy Terra itself, above the hive cities of Necromunda!"

Constatios Pollux was beginning to have a sinking feeling in his stomach. Holding up a hand to forstall further speech, he leaned in close to the holo that depicted the planet before them.

"Magos, pull up scans of the planet's surface."

Within moments, a full color, live-feed holo of the planet's surface was before them. It seemed full of plant life, and readings showed a small concentration of several thousand humans in a decently sized township. A growing agri-world, perhaps? However, almost none of that information registered to the two looking over the holo. Instead, their eyes focused on the swarms of buzzing xenos that flew across the planet, and the bug-like humanoid xenos, collecting paralyzed humans. A new strain of Genestealers? The mythical Hrud? Pollux did not recognize the xenos. Pollux did not recognize the technology of the humans. There were no shrines to Him on Terra, no Imperial Aquilia. To be blunt, the tech appeared to be more Tau-like then Imperial. Despite the lack of Aquilias, despite the lack of Imperial architecture, the people down there were still human. Still children of the Emperor and Omnissiah. This, this _defilement_ could not be allowed to happen. The enemies of Man must be destroyed.

"Commander, prep your troops and vehicles for planetfall! Magos! Bless the dropships, and send Skitarii to protect the ground command. The Foul Xenos must not be suffered to live. Ave Imperator!"

* * *

Joker stared. He had seem some strange things in his time. Mankind's first SPECTRE, corrupted Turians, a Reaper, and, to top it all off, a woman brought back to life. But this, this took the cake. Each ship that had emerged from that brief gaping hole in reality was ridiculously gigantic, larger than almost any known species' warcraft. The two smallest of them easily equaled Sovereign in size, and the largest dwarfing Quarian Lifeships. However, it was not only the size of the strange ships that gave him pause. It was their construction. Each one of the ships was dark, covered with strange architecture and symbols, the most prevalent being a double headed eagle. If he had not kept up to date with the latest Alliance ship designs, he would swear those ships were human. Edi's electronic voice brought him back to reality, though the pilot was still more than a little bit shocked.

"Joker? Please tell me that my scanners aren't malfunctioning"

As he looked on, a small swarm of ships disengaged from the bottoms of the strange ships, heading towards the colony on Horizon. Grabbing his headset, he began to patch himself through to Shepard. The Collectors were still blocking the signal, but he had to get through. He had to.

"They aren't, but I wish they were. Shepard! We have new arrivals! They're uh, they're not Collectors. Honestly, I don't even know what they are."

* * *

Grenadier Sergeant Sigismund sat in his troopship, holding his powersword in one hand, tip pressed against the floor, pommel against his helmet. His eyes closed, the Steel Legion Guardsman waited for the battle. He was a veteran, having fought in hundreds of battles, seeing thousands upon thousands fall. The Third War for Armageddon, the Spinward Front, countless battles against Genestealers, Orks, Rebel Imperials, and Chaos cultists had left the Sergeant a broken man. He had fought for more than 20 years, joining up at 14, now at the age of 36. Countless horrors, deaths of hundreds of companions, promotions from a conscript to a Veteran Grenadier Sergeant. He was not a noble, gifted his station. Sigismund had earned it. He just wanted to be done, to head back home. A Forth War for Armageddon was not what he expected to call him back. And now, here he was, over some Tau-sympathizing backwater, if the rumors were to believed. Glancing up from the ground, the Sergeant looked at his squad, assigned for this campaign four weeks ago. They were an alright bunch, good soldiers, but not a group he knew particularly well. Sigismund was not known for his social skills.

"Men, I know you have all fought before. I will not lie. This time may very well be our last, just like every time. However, we will not fail in our duty. We are Guardsmen! We are the Steel Legion! And we will hold the line! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

Sigismund was not particularly zealous, nor was he an orator. But a little moral boost never hurt anyone. As the Veteran Grenadier squadron echoed his cry, a red light flickered to green in the back of the Valkyrie: Deployment.

The door in the back of the ship opened up, letting in the sound of what sounded like light stubberfire from where the colonists appeared to be fighting back. Sigismund's squad's Valkyrie was at the front of the deployment, the point of the charge. He could already hear the deep booms of Leman Russ cannon fire, peppered with the screams of ionized air from Lasgun fire. With a grim smile, Sigismund jumped, followed by his squad. Time to purge.

* * *

"Shepard! - have - arrivals! The - Collectors. Hone - they are - "

Commander Jane Shepard cursed when Joker's comms cut through to her, static crackling from the Collector interference. More ships arriving, was that what he had said? More Collectors? The signal jam was still at full strength, it had been a miracle that Joker was able to contact her at all. She had no way to tell what he was frantically trying to tell her, and besides, she was occupied at the moment. Crouched behind a torn up crate, the SPECTRE raised her M-15 Vindicator, spraying overhead at the Collectors attacking her position. She had just encounter a husk unlike anything she had seen before, rattling her and both her squadmates, Miranda and Zaeed. And now, after renewed, intense Collector assault on their position, more ships were arriving? More Collector ships? It was a desperate, uphill battle to try and save the colonists from one ship. And now more. A small, hateful tendril of fear wormed its way through her mind. How could she win? How could she save those who needed it?

An explosion sounded to her left, as Harbringer destroyed a wall, snapping Jane back to reality, more Collector Drones arriving by the minute. She could not allow herself to be distracted. She had to save the colonists. She had to.

 _ **"We are superior."**_

Zaeed yelled expletives at the talking Collector from behind his cover. He had been pretty badly hit by the first incarnation of Harbringer, his lower leg useless. Miranda was attempting to reload, her last full thermal clip pressed into the rifle. It was not hopeless, but if Commander Shepard had been a gambling girl, she would not have bet on her odds. Turning to the N7 Operative, Miranda shouted over the din of battle.

"Commander! We can't hold out much longer! What should we do?"

"Take as many of the bastards you can with us! Leave the big one to me, just focus on the-"

Jane Shepard was cut off, as a sizzling, screaming sound of air was heard. The Collectors paused in their fire, allowing her to hear the deep, thundering sounds of warfare. Were those ships Joker had mentioned Alliance? Did they get reinforcements? Miranda ventured a look above her cover, seeing a sight truly bizarre, a sight that she would remember for years to come.

A strange, angular ship had arrived. Emblazoned with golden doubleheaded eagles, it paused above the Collector horde, as ten trenchcoated and armoured men deployed from its bowels. The Collectors opened fire, their shots easily shrugged aside by the strange armor worn by the gas-masked soldiers. Nothing from the Collectors even seemed to touch them. Stranger still then that impenetrable armor, was the fact that none of them had a Biotic shield. In fact, none of them had any recognizable equipment, Council or otherwise. One of them even carried a sword. A honest to God sword. Joining Miranda's example, Commander Jane Shepard and Zaeed glanced over their cover, viewing the strange sight. However, despite the oddness of the new arrivals, it appeared that they were more than effective. Yellow-tan trenchcoats flapping, rifles blazing with power, each soldier marched forward, burning those before them with shot after shot. The guns of the strange men flashed, destroying Collectors with each rapid-fire blast, tearing apart the surroundings with their shots. The very air itself seemed to sizzle and burn with each blast. A worried thought crossed the Commander's mind: Laser weaponry? The Citadel itself had yet to develop the technology, and here these soldiers were, using these weapon with trained, practiced ease. Each blast completely ignored the Biotic shields of the Collectors, bypassing them completely to blow off limbs, blasting gaping holes in the enemy.

With a loud whisper, Jane Shepard turned to the mercenary.

"Zaeed? Have you ever come across this kind of tech?"

"I've seen a lot of strange shit, but never something like that. Goddamn, I need one of those beaut's"

 _ **"Face your annihilation."**_

The Harbringer turned to face this new threat, declaring its intent. A blast from the uplifted Collector barely fazed the trooper it blasted, the swordsman, only staggering him. Both paused for a millisecond, the swordsman seemingly surprised he survived, the Harbringer slightly confused by the same. The sword-wielding soldier marched forward, sword held at the ready. The battle raged around them, but Jane Shepard could not tear her eyes away. Each shot fired at him was ignored, and with a blur of motion, the Harbringer was cut open, its body dissolving before it could hit the ground. Again, the strange weaponry completely ignored Biotic shielding. Were these some new, experimental Cerberus or Alliance soldiers? Who, or what were these arrivals? Shaking her head in disbelief, Shepard yelled for her squad to engage the remaining Collectors in the area. She would be damned if she let herself be rescued without providing at least some help.

In a matter of moments, the Collectors in the area were eliminated, though sounds of battle still echoed around her. Standing, the SPECTRE walked towards these strange, tan coated soldiers, followed by her two squadmates, Miranda supporting the old mercenary. The swordsman met them, a skull-shaped gas mask hiding his eyes. The soldier certainly _looked_ human, at least, the proportions matched, though it was impossible to tell when everything was covered. The two sides paused, looking at each other. Shepard extended a hand.

"Careful Commander, we still don't know who these people are. Are they even human?"

That was Miranda's whisper. Zaeed laughed roughly at her response

"Hey, they saved our asses, didn't they? I say we give'em a chance."

Jane Shepard nodded, still awkwardly holding her hand out. The soldier stared at it, before reaching his gloved hand up, removing his helmet, removing his skull-shaped mask, revealing a very human, and very scarred and grizzled face. A face that may have once looked plain, but now, with a broken and badly healed nose, burn marks, and scars crisscrossing all over, looked something less than attractive. Looking down at her hand like it would bite him, the soldier shook it gingerly, speaking in some unintelligible language.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **This is a story I've been thinking about writing for a while. I know I have not put a huge amount of backstory for either the choices made in Mass Effect, or for the Imperials, but hopefully I can cover more of than in the next Chapter. Also, the moment when universes actually cross over are my favorite parts of crossovers, so I decided to start there.**

 **Please, leave as much constructive criticism as you can. Emperor knows I could use it. I will try to answer any questions by the end of Chapter 2.**


	2. Chapter 2: Horizon

The Voice of the Omnissiah sounded in the head of Skitarius Alpha 4942-Isidor-7. The foul xenos technology had feebly attempted to interrupt the connection, completely underestimating the power of the Machine God. Though the Skitarii were few compared to their comrades in arms, each soldier of Mars was a lord of war, Arc rifles cracking the air with the might of the Motive Force, tearing through xenos forces as a scythe through wheat. Yet more fearsome still was the charge of the Syndonian Dragoons, the terrible taser lances spearing the bug-like aliens, leaving only blackened bodies in their wake. The weak weapons of their enemies barely harmed the Martian infantry; while a direct hit may have caused mild damage, the sheer speed granted by blessed augmentations allowed most to avoid being shot. They could not dodge the bullets, but a wall of cover always managed to be inbetween a bullet and the Skitarius it was aimed at.

Isidor-7 felt a small amount of satisfaction at outperforming their more human allies. Of course, out of all Imperial Guard regiments, the Steel Legion was the Mechanicus' favored. They showed the proper reverence for their Vehicle's Machine Spirits, unlike the barbaric Catachan or fatalistic Krieg. Unfortunately, most were un-augmented, having yet to be blessed by the gifts of the Machine God. Perhaps this campaign would change that, Isidor considered. His own body was more than half mechanical, having only recently passed the Crux Mechanicus required to become an alpha.

Brought back to the situation at hand, the blessed Voice of the Omnissiah gave a new command to Isidor-7 and his rangers. The pic-capturers on a Valkyrie had picked up living defenders of the planet, unlike the frozen statues of people that decorated the small colony. The Magos wanted a presence at the scene. There was no need for Isidor to bellow orders. The command was broadcast across the minds of his rangers, and their Ironstrider Balistari escort. As one, the Skitarii turned away from the combat. As one, the Skitarii checked their ammo. As one, the Skitarii set forth. Let the alien and the heretek fear the wrath of the Machine God.

* * *

Sigismund stared. His mask and helmet were in one hand, the woman before him offering forth hers. Though not wearing any Imperial markings, he would have sworn she was an Inquisitor. The black armor, the force field generated by what could only be a Rosarius, the arrogant confidence. Perhaps she was undercover, bringing a non-Imperial world to the light? With a grimace, he reached out his hand to shake her offered one. In Sigismund's, admittedly limited, experience, any business with an officer of the Inquisition was sure to turn out bad. Not knowing if the "Inquisitor's" companions were to be trusted, he made an attempt at speaking in High Gothic, probably butchering it, but hopefully communicating well. Not many spoke the language of nobles, but as an officer and veteran of the Guard, he had picked some up. However, Sigismund didn't try to smile. It didn't "put people at ease", and he never was good at it. Besides, the only Inquisitor he'd met never seemed to appreciate the effort.

"Inquisitor. The Imperial Guard is here to help. Current orders are to destroy the alien threat, and to protect civilians. Do you require assistance?"

His squad slowly gathered behind him, weapons strung low, safeties on. Thankfully, their Carapace armor had protected them from the worst of the xenos pathetic attempts at resistance. Unfortunately, Sigismund was not as lucky. That direct hit, while dampened by his armor, certainly hurt. The heat had been displaced by the ceramite, the projectile as well, but the kinetic force had not. A rib was broken, possibly more, he was certain of it. Emperor knew he had fought through worse pain. Sigismund would endure, it was his duty. A guardsman always did his duty.

Heavy bolter fire sounded in the distance, backed by the deepthroated roars of _Demolishers_ , and rapid cracks of _Exterminators_. The Leman Russ detachments must be advancing. Hopefully Chimera support would be here soon, the Sergeant did not fancy footslogging for the rest of the mission.

* * *

Jane Shepard shook the man's hand before her, as he began to speak in some strange, intelligible language. His armor was dented, a line of blood dripped slowly down his forehead, but the soldier seemed to be ignoring the pain. She probably needed to get him medical assistance, but the mission at hand demanded her attention. No matter how much she wanted to help him, there were the colonists to think of first. There was also the fact that she had no idea what he had just said.

"What...What was that?"

Zaeed just shrugged, using a bit of a broken crate as a crutch, letting out a grunt of pain as he did so. Medigel had been slathered over it, but things still took some time to heal. Miranda leaned forward, offering her expertise.

"I believe it was Latin, or, at least, something that sounded like it. I could try to translate it for you, but I don't know how accurate I'll be."

Miranda gave an apologetic look, the trenchcoated soldiers standing, waiting for a response. With a nod from the Commander, she began acting as an interpreter between the two.

"He says, uh, that the 'Imperial Guard' is here to help, and asking if you need any, well, help. Commander? I… I don't think these guys are Cerberus. They never told me about this kind of weaponry, and there's no Cerberus markings anywhere."

"These gents aren't Alliance either, Shepard. Hell, they don't even have the marking of any merc group I know."

"Thanks, Zaeed, and thank you Miranda. I'll believe it. Whoever they are, they say they're here to help. We could definitely use a little help for once. Tell him to follow us. We should head inside."

Almost as an after thought, Jane Shepard added:

"Don't tell them we're with Cerberus, not yet. Your organization isn't exactly beloved for it's 'Humanity First' ideas. With any luck, we can keep it quiet for the moment."

* * *

In the space above the planet, Rogue Trader Constantios Pollux was holding an emergency meeting of his captains and aides. Lady Commander Miriel and the Arch-Magos were busy commanding their respective troops, the dropships and Valkyrie seemingly unaffected by the disastrous warp-jump. A tech-priest was at the Rogue Trader's side, feeding him updates about the ship's ongoing repairs. Due to Pollux's close ties to the Mechanicus, and his considerable fortune, each ship in his fleet was equipped with many, many automated systems, negating the needs for the thousands of slaves usually required on starships of these sizes. Unfortunately, the inclusion of these automated systems meant that his fleet's weaponry was ineffective for the near future, damaged by the warp. Thankfully, the void shields were up now. It had been a stressful moment when they had gone down. With a slight start, Pollux awoke from his daydreaming, seeing his two captains waiting for his orders: Captain Tiberius of the Flames of Darmok on a vid-screen to his left, Captain Snurlson of the Storm of Edda to his right.

"Captains. Thank the Emperor and the Machine God that communications are back up. I assume repairs are still underway on your vessels? Good. As I am sure you have been informed, there is currently a small-scale xenos incursion of the colony below us. The Arch-Magos and the Lady Commander are currently in control of planet-side operations. Due to, ahem, unforeseen circumstances, we no longer find ourselves above Armageddon. Instead, we are above a strange and foreign Colony world, possibly settled by non-Imperial humans. We must return to Armageddon for our payment and to deploy the troops. However, the discovery of these colonists may delay that plan, and, until our star-maps are corrected, we will stay in orbit. Pollux, out"

With a gesture from the Lord Trader, the tech-priest severed the connection. Constantios sighed, rubbing his temples. What in the Warp was going on. A non-Imperial colony? A possible new xenos threat? He snorted in derision. The life of a Rogue Trader was an interesting one, and one he had lived for more than a century. He would adapt. But first, should these humans prove to be a holdout from before the Great Crusade…

"Kell! Call Amelie up to the bridge. I may have need of her services."

Pollux nodded to himself. Yes, a Psyker would certainly be advantageous during negotiations. This whole adventure might prove more interesting than Armageddon, and, with a grim smirk, the Rogue trader leaned back, awaiting his subordinate.

* * *

The strange, beautiful, and almost _too_ perfect companion of the 'Inquisitor' was the one to respond. If the Guardsman was being honest, she reminded him a bit to much of the 'perfect' Eldar, all to confident in their superiority. Out of the 'Inquisitor's' companions, he trusted the old, injured soldier the most. He looked like a soldier, and soldiers never changed, no matter where in the Galaxy you were. He gave the man a nod, as the two women conversed between themselves. The black-haired and white-clothed companion responded, after translating for her superior. Her High Gothic was strange, corrupted, and so hopelessly mangled that Sigismund had trouble understanding her response, but he believe he got the gist of it. They were to march inside, to cover, or some such thing. With a wince, Sigismund put his gasmask and helmet back on, his left side still in pain. The rib was definitely broken.

"Guardsmen! I'll be following the locals inside. Secure the area. Weapons on standby. Expect the worst, hope for the best."

The Steel Legionnaire with the vox-caster raised his hand, a new signal coming through.

"Sir! They've just told me we're receiving Skitarii reinforcements. Should- "

He was cut off by a series of thudding sounds. Bounding over the walls surrounding the courtyard, were those very Skitarii the coms officer had spoken of. They moved to fast for Sigismund's liking, a bit too strange in their movements to look purely human, but he still appreciated them. They were fearsome warriors, and reinforcements were never not wanted. The rust-red cloaked cyborgs stood, their mechanical legs allowing them to stride over to the guardsmen and the confused locals. The Alpha, blue bionic eyes glowing beneath the hood, arc maul cracking with ancient energies, approached Sigismund himself.

"I am Skitarius Ranger Alpha designation 4942-Isidor-7. We are arrived."

"We had things handled, but I don't mind the help. This is... these are the locals. We were about to head inside, if you would like to join us?"

An explosion was heard, as the wall to the courtyard collapsed inward. All present save the Skitarii turned towards the gap, weapons at the ready. From the burning hole emerged two Ironstriders, their long legs keeping the rider's heads above the dust. One's twin-linked autocannon had a bit of smoke drifting from the barrels. The Skitarii Alpha, Isidor, Sigismund reminded himself, turned to the new arrivals. A burst of Lingua-Technis sounded from his mouth, and the two vehicles strode away to secure the courtyard, followed by the rest of the squadron. Alpha Isidor then fixed his blue, glowing stare on the Sergeant.

"The Ironstriders will guard the area, along with my Rangers. This Ranger will follow."

* * *

"What the hell are those things?"

Zaeed had his pistol the ready, aiming at the new arrivals, Miranda and Shepard quickly following suit. Shepard's first impression was that these were a new breed of husks, the glowing blue eyes and robotic parts certainly supporting that theory. Yet, the odd cloaks and hoods, coupled with the strange weaponry, held the SPECTRE's fire. The strange soldiers seemed to know these even stranger arrivals. They might be helpful. Still, Jane Shepard was more than a little weary of the red-cloaked _things_. They weren't human, they couldn't be. Their movement was to strange, to jerky, their limbs the wrong proportions. Perhaps a new alien race? She did not want a botched recon mission under Cerberus to be first contact, but there was not much Jane could do about it. No matter how much she reassured herself, their new robotic friends put her on watch. The resemblance to husks did not help in the slightest. Before she could question more, one of the courtyard's walls exploded inwards. A new Collector attack?

From the dust strode two incredibly strange walkers, painted the same rust red as the robotic soldier's robes.

"Zaeed, have you-"

"Not a clue, Shepard. What the hell are these things?"

The question would go unanswered, as Miranda's attempt to inquire was met with silence and a curious sort of hostility. Apparently, it was odd to the trench-coats that the SPECTRE's group did **not** recognize these new arrivals. Their leader began to look at Jane, seemingly not understanding why she did not know what these Not-Husks were.

Unfortunately, that situation would have to be dealt with at another time. There were still colonists to save, at their survival took precedence over any questions Shepard may have for their odd allies. With a gesture to follow, the five strode into the garage.

The garage was dark, lit by dim lights hidden in corners. Jane was the first to speak.

"Company."

Her companions drew their weapons, the trenchcoated soldier following suit. The Not-Husk already had his out, lurking in the back of the group, peering at everything through those strange, blue-tinted goggles.

"Get out here. Now!"

From behind the crates, a sorry looking mechanic emerged, eyeing the group with evident surprise and fear.

"You're... You're human! What are you doing out here? You'll lead them right here!"

"I cleared a path! You're lucky you're not in the hold of a Collector ship right now."

* * *

The meatbags bickered, as Isidor stayed hidden in the shadows, relaying everything that he saw and heard back to the Arch-Magos. These proceedings bored him. The strange technology on this colony was of much more interest to him. It appeared to be a strange mix of Imperial and T'au designs, tech-heresy if he ever saw it, but an interesting case none-the-less. The Magos would want some samples of this technology. The xenos they had encountered had proven to be less than advanced, using strange bio-tech, almost like the horrific Tyranids. The Omnisiah surely had cursed them, for their best weapons amounted to improved auto-guns and stubbers, no match for the strength of the Skitarii Maniple that had arrived.

The locals soon finished their idiotic conversation/argument, and one of them, the woman in white, turned to translate for the Steel Legion Sergeant. Her High Gothic was broken, horrible, and almost impossible to understand, but apparently the locals did not speak Low Gothic, so they had to rely on this translation. The Sergeant translated for Isidor as the group left the garage, the man inside not noticing the Skitarius. While not an Infiltrator, the Ranger Alpha had a knack for not being seen when he wished it.

According to the translator woman, the colonies local artillery would send the xenos ship back into the warp from whence it came. However, it would be a dangerous path to the controls, through an area infested with the alien. The Guardsman and the Skitarius paused as they began to understand the idea.

* * *

"Ranger Isidor-7, do you know how many Onagers the Mechanicus landed?"

The Skitarius paused, as if recieving an answer from on high, before responding.

"15 have landed, bless the Omnisiah"

"I know we have at least one tank company down here... Translator!"

Sigismund hurried over to the odd, too-perfect brunette's side. Before he could tell her of his plan, Las-fire could be heard exploding nearby. The xenos were back, and with a vengeance. Thankfully, the Guardsmen and the Skitarii were holding them off relatively well, while the Ironstiders rained death and destruction on their foes, their quick legs weaving around the enemy. Odd creatures were scurrying forward, remind Sigismund uncannily of those cultists affected by the perils of the warp. Thankfully, these creatures had none of the enhancements the chosen of Chaos usually would have been "gifted", but the images still brought back memories. Not good ones, either. He had to fight those memories, squashing them down inside of him. Fear was the mind-killer. Fear would destroy a regiment faster than a Greater Daemon.

Crouching behind a wall, next to his translator, he realized that he had never inquired of the names of these brave locals. No matter. It would hurt less when they died. Quickly speaking the little High Gothic he knew, he shouted to the translator over the las-fire and auto-gun rounds exploding nearby, hoping that she could hear. They needed to take cover. Now, on to the second stage. A glance over his cover saw that the vox-operator was a scant few yards away. His Las-pistol barked, vaporizing the air before it with its blasts, clearing a path to the specialist. Thankfully, the auto-guns of the xenos scarcely damaged his Carapace armor as he ran forward, wincing from his broken rib, yelling in anger, fury, and pain. Crouching down by the operator, the Sergeant turned to his subordinate.

"Guardsman! Relay this message to command: According to local intelligence, concentrated artillery fire should force the xenos ship into orbit. With help from the Onagers, we could win this battle in a matter of minutes. Did that send? Now TAKE COVER!"

The shout was too his entire squad, the veterans diving down, obeying orders as if from instinct. The Skitarii remained upright and fighting, trusting their cybernetic legs to hold them. The booms of Leman Russ and Onager fire paused for a single second, before redoubling. Each and every one focused on the small xenos ship. While not torn to pieces, the strange rock and metal ship began to take flight, soaring into the sky, a few Valkyrie pursuing it before being called off.

The day was won.

The colony saved.

So why did Sigismund feel so hollow, so weak?

Looking down, the Steel Legion Veteran remembered. The broken rib. He collapsed forward, supported by the vox-operator. Shaking his head he stood, leaning on the crate next to him. He needed a medicae, and soon.

* * *

Constantios Pollux stood in the meeting room, waiting for Amelie. His last psyker had died a scant month ago, leaving behind his pupil. She was young, she was untrained, and she was a pysker. Capable of reading minds, or of ripping a man apart with hers. Pollux's reflections were interrupted by the screen behind him lighting up. Lady Commander Miriel was voxing in from the surface. Turning around, he saw her face before his.

"Lord Trader. We have eliminated the xenos, and the locals are starting to wake from their paralysis. We need to report this to the Inquisition. These new xenos, while weak, could pose a threat to under-defended colonies. How go the repairs?"

"They are underway. Not much can be said. Thankfully, the Magos can turn his full attention to them, now that that scuffle is taken care of. Unfortunately, Lady Commander, there have been... complications with repairing the communications. We are linked, and all ship-board communications are now online, but we are unable to send or receive anything from in this sector. In addition, there is more, worrying news."

The giant of a man strode from his position, the video feed swiveling to continue facing him. With a sigh, he sat down in the Lord Trader's chair, his face grim. Folding his hands, Pollux gazed at the woman before him.

"The tech-priests assure me the star-map is repaired, and in perfect shape. Thankfully, Kell was misled when declaring we were above Necromunda. Instead, we appear to be above your home. Armageddon. We can only pray to the Emperor that we were not too late, and the warpstorm did not change to much. I fear we must contact the Ordo Chronos as well as the Ordo Xenos. We appear to be a fleet out of space, out of time."

* * *

 **AN: To address certain concerns by reviewers**

 **Guest: Well, yes and no. Tzeentch does not see the future. However, his oracle, Kairos Fateweaver does. When Tzeentch wishes to know the future, he simply inquires of his oracle. Therefore, while Tzeentch cannot see the future, he can know it.**

 **Ghost: Yes, as you corrected, Quarian Lifeships are a bit smaller :).**

 **Guest/dekuton: Again, the reviewers are correct. The average autogun wielded by the Lost and Damned is basically equivalent to a Mass Effect Assault Rifle. However, Grenadiers, stormtroopers, and certain veterans are granted Carapace armor, which is whole magnitudes greater than regular flak armor, though not invincible, as you can see.**

 **deeed22: I probably will not be including Space Marines, simply because they are involved in much to much to do with 40k. They number a scant million among untold billions. However, this may change.**

 **BluePanedGasmask: Believe me, there will be plenty of Skitarii and Mechanicus action. They are one of my favorite factions, and they will definitely get their share of the spotlight.**

 **Thank you all for the feedback, and please, I love constructive criticism, lore corrections, and reviews. Also, please point out any typos I make, I'll try to fix them. Proofreading is not my strong suit. The next chapter will hopefully be up by 6/12/17, should nothing come up.**


	3. Chapter 3: Contact

The Lady Commander paused at the revelation, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Lord Pollux, I saw the system map in the command room with you. This system has four planets, and while I was far from the greatest student in the Schola, I do know my home system has ten planets. What is the meaning of this?"

"Lady Miriel, are you familiar with the past of your planet? I assume not, as that information is, to say the least, hard to come across. While we are above Armageddon, at least, according to the planetary scans, we are not in the Armageddon _System_. We appear to be an unnamed system. This is what worries me. For during the War of the Beast - You were taught of it, yes? - a certain world named Ullanor was held as the capital of the beastly Orks."

"Ullanor was destroyed after the Imperial victory, the Mechanicus enacted Exterminatus on that foul world. What are you getting at, Pollux?"

"Ullanor was bombarded, yes. This is a secure channel, correct? Very well. What I tell you must not be overheard."

Lord Trader Pollux took a deep breath, his eyes roaming the empty room, searching for anyone or anything that might overhear.

"Ullanor was deemed to be of too great importance to the Mechanicus to be completely destroyed. While the planet was desolated by orbital bombardment, the Mechanicus could not let so many valuable archaeo-tech ruins be destroyed by Exterminatus. The planet was moved, using ancient techno-sorcery, into what we now call the Armageddon System. Many who knew of this act were purged during the Beheading, though a few valued members of the Mechanicus survived. Some of these Magos and Tech-Priests were sheltered by a planetary noble. A noble named Basilious Pollux. That is why I now know this. As for why I share this knowledge with you, a well kept secret of my family for generations upon generations, I… Lady Commander, the world you now stand on _is_ Ullanor. By the lack of Imperial presence, and the lack of the brutish Orks, there are few conclusions to draw. We must, at the very least, be in the 31M, perhaps even earlier. We must remain vigilant, and find the nearest Imperials, warning them of the destruction to come.

"I see."

Miriel's face was pale, her knuckles white from gripping the table before her. The command Chimera was empty, the Guardswoman the only one to hear of this momentous news. Her home was no more. Her planet, everything she had known, was no more. Closing her eyes, the Lady Commander steadied herself. She would have to tell the troops something, anything. A quick thought flitted across her mind: could the Rogue Trader be lying? There was no conceivable reason for him too. His explanation simply made too much sense, why the rescued colonists did not know of the Imperium, the position on the star maps, the relatively simplistic weaponry the locals wielded, and so on.

They were in the past.

"Thank you, Lord Pollux, for your trust. The Emperor Protects."

His face grave, miniaturized on the screen before her, nodded. The Rogue Trader echoed her words, leaning forward to terminate the link.

"The Emperor Protects."

* * *

Husks and Collectors seemed to melt away, retreating to their battered ship with alarming speed, the courtyard emptying rapidly. The trench-coated men and their red-cloaked companions continued firing until the enemies had disappeared, the bodies of the slain Collectors fading into nonexistence. Jane Shepard was pleasantly surprised. The Collector threat had been neutralized, a mission brought back from the brink of failure. While their new allies were strange, they certainly were helpful.

It was also nice to have allies, for a change.

She turned to the apparent leader of the trench-coats, the one who had called in some form of intense artillery support. He had negated the need for the Guardian Defense System, and the need to fight through hordes and hordes of Collectors. Though odd, though strange, though Jane had _no clue_ who these people were, he at least deserved recognition. Jane's eyebrow raised for a moment when she saw him. She almost ran forward, trying to find some medi-gel in her pack. The man had been much more severely wounded then he had let on, almost collapsed against his comrade, a few pained breaths echoing from his gasmask.

"Miranda, get over here! Zaeed, you too! We need medi-gel. Miranda, tell these people that I'm trying to help their leader, not hurt him!"

The other trenchcoats were trying to pull Shepard back from their commander, who was slowly staggering to his feet, holding up a hand. Miranda's Latin commands appeared to be understood, and waved off by the trench-coat leader. Supported by one of his soldiers, he gestured, leading the party onward, trying to hold Shepard's attention. Jane followed reluctantly. The man was alive, and evidently able to continue onwards, but she kept her eye on him. She was _not_ letting another die on her watch. Not after Virmire.

The group struggled forward, led by the wounded soldier. As they walked, Shepard's com suddenly burst into sound, Joker's frantic voice echoing in her ear.

"Commander? Commander! Commander Shepard, can you hear me? Commander!"

"Joker, calm down, I'm alright. The new arrivals seem to be friendlies, what's the situation up there?"

" _Goddamnit_ Shepard. You scared me there, thank God you're alright. As for up here, well, we have three Gothic Cathedrals masquerading as space-ships, bigger than any known designs, besides space stations. The largest is absolutely gigantic, and I could fly the Normandy up some of the guns. I don't know what the new guys look like down there, but uh, be nice to them? Please? I'd rather not be space dust."

"Hold up a moment, slow down Joker. Just… hold position. No reason to antagonize them, stay where you are. I'll be up in a moment. Oh, and Joker? The new arrivals down here don't have translators. One of them speaks in Latin, but that's the closest we've gotten to communicating. Can you get Edi to work on that sort of thing?"

The A.I's voice chimed in on the com channel, sounding vaguely amused.

"As you wish, Commander. I'll create a brand new lexicon for a language I've never heard before. If you need this done, I need a live subject up here. Can you get that for me?"

"I'll see what I can do."

As Shepard walked alongside the trench-coats, coming up a rise, she began to see signs of battle damage. A collapsed wall here, a roofless building there. In the destruction, hulking metal shapes were seen. Scarred tanks, cannons pointing to the sky. Shepard and Miranda's eyes were wide. Zaeed was less surprised, having fought in more conventional ground wars than his two companions, but he was impressed, nonetheless. The vehicles each looked like they belonged in a museum, but none of the Collector's weaponry had done more than scratch the paint. On each vehicle, more trench-coats sat, masks and helmets off, wide smiles all around, joking and laughing. It became rapidly apparent that the it was not a strike force that had attacked the Collectors. It was an army.

But, despite the tan trenchcoat army covering the colony with tanks and what appeared to be APCS, the scene was not one of occupation. It was one of relief. The soldiers were happy. The colonists were happy, if in a bit of shock. Kids played, some hanging from tank barrels, the trench-coats reassuring nervous parents. Though the colonists and the soldiers could not understand each other, gestures and charade proved to be more than effective. A few of the more hospitable locals had brought out freshly made food. Each offering was greedily and gratefully devoured by the soldiers, cries of what she assumed to be thanks and praise echoing from stuffed mouths. They even sighted the nervous mechanic from earlier, rushing over to two children and a woman, tears in his eyes. Glancing up, he met Shepard's gaze, nodding in her direction, mouthing "Thank you". It was an uncertain feeling for Shepard. She had succeeded with minor problems, for once. The colony was saved, with only a few taken.

Though the overall scene was one of relief, as Shepard continued, she saw a few small, somber groups, both of soldiers and of colonists. The trench-coats were standing around freshly upturned earth in a field, with a man in red reading from a book. A priest, or chaplain? Though religion was not unheard of in the modern world, it was certainly rare, and Jane did not recognize any familiar symbols. She filed the sight away for later, returning her gaze to the groups of colonists, grieving for those taken in the attack. To her surprise, there were much less than she expected. The soldiers, no matter what their affiliation, certainly cared for protecting the human element.

Her musings were interrupted by someone calling her name. A voice she had not heard in a long time, a voice that Jane Shepard had remembered.

"SHEPARD? Jane Shepard, is that you?"

The Commander paused, the more heavily armored trench-coats she had been following pausing. Their leader looked back at the yelling woman, an expression of confusion on his unmasked, heavily scarred face.

"Ashley?"

"I thought you were dead, Commander. We all did."

The Alliance officer stepped up to the SPECTRE, her brows furrowed with anger and confusion. The squadron they had been following merely looked on in interest.

"It's been too long, Ashley. How have you been?"

"That's all you have to say? You show up after two years, an entire goddamn army in tow, and that is all you have to say? You just act like nothing's happened? I would have followed you _anywhere_ , Commander! Thinking you were gone… it was like losing a limb. Why didn't you try to contact me? Why didn't you let me know you were alive, or to, at the very least, tell me the colony would be under military occupation when you arrived?

"You're still with the Alliance. You've turned a blind eye to the problem. But human colonies are disappearing, and I'm trying to save them. I don't know who these soldiers are, or where they come from. But they are doing a damn sight more than the Alliance, whoever they are."

"Really? Is that what you're doing? Because I saw reports that you were working for Cerberus. How do I know this isn't some kind of mercenary force they've put together?"

Miranda, helpful and lacking in social graces as always, chimed in.

"Reports? So much for security. And if Cerberus had an army this size, don't you think they'd put it to more use?

Ashley ignored her, plowing ahead with her anger and shock.

"Alliance intel thought Cerberus might be behind the missing human colonies. They got a tip that this colony might be the next one to get hit. Anderson stonewalled me, but there were rumours you weren't dead. That you were working for the enemy."

"Our colonies are disappearing. The Alliance turned its back on them. Cerberus was the only group willing to do anything about it, until this group showed up."

"You can't really believe that! We both know what Cerberus is like. What they're capable of. And who knows with this group. They could be even worse, for all we know. I wanted to believe the rumours that you were alive, but I never expected anything like this. You've turned your back on _everything_ we stood for!"

"Ash, you know me. You know I'd only do this for the right reason. You saw it yourself. The Collectors are targeting human colonies. And they're working for the Reapers!"

"I wanna believe you, Shepard. But I don't trust Cerberus. I don't trust these soldiers and their weapons of war. Cerberus could be using threat of a Reaper to manipulate you. What if they're behind it? What if they're working with the Collectors? And if you don't know where this army came from, what's to say they aren't working with them as well?"

Leaning back, Miranda conferred with Zaeed.

"Typical Alliance attitude. So focused on Cerberus, and so blind to the real threat."

Zaeed grunted and shrugged, still favoring one leg, still using the crutch, but well on his way to healing his damaged leg. Jane took a step forward, using her height to look down on the other woman.

"You're letting what you feel about their history get in the way of the facts. Why would this army defending this colony, killing hundreds of Collectors, if they are working with them?"

"Maybe you're right. Or maybe you feel like you owe Cerberus because they saved you. Maybe you're not the one who's thinking straight. You've changed. But I still know where my loyalties lie. I'm an Alliance soldier. Always have been, always will be. I gotta report back to the Citadel. They can decide if they believe your story or not. Besides, I have to tell them about a new army that appeared. These soldiers don't speak English, and none have any translator nodes. The Citadel **has** to know."

"We both know how that's going to turn out. The Alliance is going to blame Cerberus and these newcomers, just like you did."

"Cerberus cannot be trusted, and neither can this army. Goodbye Shepard. And be careful."

* * *

There was a polite knocking on the door to the command Chimera, a gloved hand rapping on the closed door. Climbing out to the entrance, gas mask unbuckled and hanging from her neck, Colonel-Commander Miriel exited her makeshift office. Outside, a nervous looking sergeant was waiting, an apologetic look on his face.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Colonel, but Sergeant Sigismund, the regiment's champion, is here. He has the local defenders of the colony with him."

"It's alright soldier. At ease. Send him over, I'll meet with him, and these locals. Oh, and get my aide, will you? I could use a pot of recaf."

Miriel sat at a makeshift table, chairs 'donated' by the locals, table made from an emptied ammo crate. Within moments, her aide appeared, pouring a steaming cup of recaf for her, as the wearied sergeant trudged up to meet her, three locals in his wake.

"Sergeant."

"Lady-Colonel. These are the defenders of the colony, the ones who helped with the intel needed to purge the foul xenos. However, Colonel, they… they do not speak Low Gothic. The one in white speaks a highly corrupted form of High Gothic, but I can at least understand most of what she's saying."

"Understood. Sergeant, are - is that blood? Sergeant, go see my personal medicae. You've brought these citizens here, take some rest. That's an order from your Colonel."

Reluctantly saluting, Sigismund grimaced at his injuries, before stiffly striding off to a worried looking medicae. As he strode away, the locals glancing after him with mild concern Miriel waved over one of her enginseers.

"I need a three way holo-graph and vox link with Pollux and the Arch Magos. Can you do that for me? Now?"

The enginseer nodded, stomping off to return quickly the clunky equipment, his mechandite tendrils and augmented limbs making short work of the set up. As Pollux and the Arch Magos appeared on the viewer, the locals looked on with interest at the new technology, murmuring amongst themselves. Though she would never show it, Miriel was somewhat pleased. Though they may not know about the Imperium, it was always good to show the might of Mars. Pollux and the Arch Magos nodded, waiting for Miriel to begin.

"I am Colonel Miriel of the Armageddon 547 Steel Legion. I understand you have aided in the defence of this colony. For this, I thank you. The Imperium needs more like you."

Stumbling, the woman in white began to speak, speaking with a strange accent, with strange words

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I am Miranda, this is Shepard, and this, is Zaeed. Apologies for the question, but where or _what_ is the Imperium?"

A cold line of shock ran down Miriel's spine. The Imperium was known throughout the Galaxy. Every xenos knew of it, every heretic feared it, every loyal citizen tithed to it. To not know of the Imperium was inconceivable. There was only one explanation, though Miriel was having a hard time accepting the reality. Pollux must have been right. From the expression on Pollux's face, it was clear her shock was shared. There was always the chance of finding new human settlements, but this simply confirmed Pollux's theory. If this planet was Armageddon, then they were truly in the past. The metal tendrils of the Arch-Mago's 'face' twitched slightly. Though he, or more accurately it, was hard to read, it wasn't a stretch to know the Martian was worried as well.

"I'm afraid I must ask a question of my own before I answer that. What is the date? What is the year?"

"It's 2185. What's going on? Is there something wrong?"

The translator shared a confused look with her superior at the question, the redheaded woman's eyebrow raised. No doubt wondering why this question was being asked. Did they not understand the perils of warp travel? The chances of being thrown about in the currents of time?

"What millenia?"

"It is the third millennium. What's the meaning of this? I can provide you with the standard first contact package, if it's needed?"

Her face began to drain of color. The third millennium. That explained the relative weakness of their technology, why they did not know of the Imperium. It was before the Emperor had revealed himself to the human race. It was before the Eye of Terror, before the Great Crusade. Before the Heresy.

Before a Galaxy-spanning war that would last for more than 10,000 years.

There were no records that remained of this time. Miriel did not know what the current political situation was, whether or not these humans had found out ways to deal with Xenos or not. Perhaps these naive peoples did not even know the horrific heresy of Chaos.

Pollux quickly began conferring with a woman next to him, his pet psyker, if Miriel could recall. The Arch Mago's eyes glowed, blue power coursing behind them. If the red-robed individual still had a mouth, he would have smiled, Miriel was sure of it. She knew he was the only one who relished the opportunity the date provided. Miriel was more worried about the various xenos races that would be around. Orks, Eldar, and Hrud would still be problems in this time, as they had no known origin date. There were no Astartes around to help protect humanity at this time. No legions of guardsmen. Though humanity had made it through this era, Miriel was worried. Pollux's ships would attract too much attention from things that could wipe humanity out.

With a polite smile, hoping to mask her shock, Colonel Miriel folded her hands, knuckles white.

"I see. That… would be helpful. One more question, if you will. What _were_ those xenos attacking this colony? Where were they from? They bear no resemblance to any in our archives."

The local defenders looked almost excited at that question, the redhead leader's eyes burning with intensity. She began to speak rapidly, the pale translator having a hard time keeping up.

"Those are the Collectors. They have been attacking human colonies in the Terminus system, stealing away colonists, striking and disappearing before we could respond. They are one of the greatest threats to humanity, at this moment. And both the Alliance, and the Council have done _**nothing**_ about them"

The anger behind the leader, Shepard's speech took Miriel aback for a moment. The greatest threat to humanity? They had been utterly devastated by the guardsmen under her command. According to preliminary reports, the 547th had suffered exactly 22 casualties, with most of them standing a good chance at recovery. Morale was sky-high, and the gratitude of the locals certainly did nothing to harm that. She was certain that the language barrier would not mean much for a few of them that night. What was this Council, and Alliance that she had mentioned? The current human governing powers? There was no other idea or explanation she could come up with at the moment, so she moved on.

Pollux had kept oddly quiet, preferring to let her do the talking, simply observing and taking notes. Out of the(admittedly few) Rogue Traders the Colonel had met, Pollux had seemed to be more loyal to the Imperium than others, having used his considerable power and wealth for quite patriotic causes. He looked thoughtful, no doubt wondering about these Collector's naval capabilities. The landing ship they had driven off the planet had been ignored by the Rogue Trader's fleet, their weapons still undergoing repairs from that disastrous warp jump. Given its relatively small size, the Trader Lord began to smile slightly. If that was the greatest the enemies of man could offer, things were beginning to look up.

"What of the Orks or Eldar? Have these Collectors rivaled them in power?"

Before the translator could respond, Pollux cut in, speaking in Low Gothic, keeping the locals out of the conversation.

"Lady Colonel, according to some Inquisitorial histories I have just pulled up, Ullanor was home to an Ork Empire for a large chunk of time before the Great Crusade, possibly before the Dark Age of Technology. If this is truly it, there _must_ be an Ork presence on this planet. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong."

The translator, with an absolutely bewildered look on her face, responded after Pollux's outburst.

"Orks? Outside of bad fantasy writing, they don't exist. What are you talking about? Is this some sort of bad practical joke?"

"Orks. Big, green, and dumb. The enemies of mankind, horrific xenos that destroy all they touch. You… you have never encountered them, have you?"

"Again, outside of poor fiction, no. Perhaps the First Contact package would help? It has a dossier on all known aliens, should that help. Just where exactly are you from? Where have you heard of these Orks?"

"I, and my regiment, are from Armageddon, Segmentum Solar, but I suppose that means nothing in the third Millennium. Miranda, was it? Miranda, it would be better to ask _when_ we are from. And the answer to that would be the 41st Millennium, though the exact time is a matter of some debate."

"Lady Commander, Lord Trader, and our new friends, I may be of some assistance."

The Martian had finally deigned to speak, his hood hiding much of his metal face, blue eyes glowing from beneath it. With a gesture, he pulled up a scrolling screen of text, written in High Gothic.

"These are the records from the colonies library, downloaded by my tech-priests on the surface. The Omnissiah has clearly only begun guiding humanity, as your security methods were nought but chaff in the wind to his blessing bestowed on my adepts. Thanks be to a cognitor one of my priests was sanctifying for the Ordo Grammaticus, we have managed to crack the code of these humans. We know the language, what appears to be one of the many ancestors of Low Gothic."

Miriel did not know how a the various metal bits that made up the face of the Magos could look that smug. The hooded Martian continued, seemingly unperturbed by the worried and confused talking between the three locals.

"If I may, there seems to be more than a few things wrong. There are no mentions of Orks, Eldar, or any other known xenos that would have been operating at this era. Even more worrying, there are records of ancient civilizations before this one, and none of those match descriptions of what those Inquisitorial histories know of that era. There are not many other possibilities. If there is no records of known xenos, no artifacts that should be in place from the War in Heaven, there is but one conclusion, no matter how implausible, that we could draw. We are not in our history. We are in a different past."

* * *

 **AN: So, it's late, and it's not the best, but it's something. Hopefully I can pump out more chapters faster, but Real Life has a way of interfering. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and now to do what I love best about writing: talking to the readers!(Seriously, that you all for the reviews!)**

 **Commissar Carl: I don't have a huge collection, but I do run some pure Skitarii and some Mech Guard. The Alpha, the Sergeant, and the as of now unrevealed Psyker are the planned main characters, but Colonel Miriel, Rogue Trader Pollux, and the Arch Magos are all planned to get quite a bit of 'screen-time'. I'm planning on sticking pretty dang close to the Skitarii lore, and the lore of both settings in general. If I get something wrong, please, anybody, tell me. I'll try to fix it. And yes, plans are on making more.**

 **That-Bosh'tet: I'm not exactly sure about which Skitarii will be seen. Honestly, they are just as eldritch and horrific to most of the ME people as the Reapers and Husks are, and I don't want to horrify the Council too quickly. But I'm not saying no, I'm just not sure what exact units I'll include in future chapters.**

 **Guest and Guest: Yes, Armageddon is a ten planet system. However, the Ullanor system is not. So, yes, as you can see, Amageddon's past is not ignored.**

 **Terence: Yes, yes it would be. Imperial ships are gigantic compared to Mass Effect.**

 **BluePanedGasmask, Guest, edboy4926, and everyone else who reviewed or even just read, thank you, and please keep it up. Next chapter will be up when it is up. Hopefully in a week, possibly(and probably) longer.**


	4. Chapter 4: Diplomacy

"A different past? Have those long years in study addled your brain, Arch-Magos?"

"This humble servant of the Omnissiah could be incorrect, Guardswoman. Given the information I have found, my theory has the greatest chance of likelihood. According to the great elder Occam, the most obvious answer is most likely the correct one."

"Very well. I am prepared to believe the Arch-Magos. And unless a better theory is found, I suggest you do the same, Lady Colonel."

"I… I agree, Rogue Trader. I agree. As for our new friends, it might be best if we reconvene at a later date. I will be above, coordinating our withdrawal from planet-side. Unless some unforeseen event occurs, a shuttle will be here to bring you space-side at this time, five hours from now. The Emperor Protects."

The strange commander of these strange forces rose, practically ignoring Miranda as she strode off, an aide rushing up to her with what looked to be a data-pad. The strange, red-robed individual clanked up to the machine that had displayed the other strangers. What _were_ these machine men? Robots? A servant race, heavily augmented? A.I? Shepard was not to keen on introducing them to the Quarians, should that be the case. If Joker was to be believed, these stranger's ships dwarfed the Quarian life-ships. And who was this "Emperor", or who was this "Omnissiah?" A political leader? A religious one?

There simply was not enough they knew about these new arrivals. Imperials, they had called themselves. Of what empire? Finally, there was the giant red-robed one. He had mentioned something about a different past. Miranda had said that the trench-coat leader claimed she was from the future. Almost 38,000 years in the future. That could not be true. Could it? It would at least explain their technology.

"Shepard? Shepard, we **need** to contact the Illusive Man. Cerberus needs to know about these people."

"Cerberus may need to know, but so does the Alliance. We just don't know enough about them to provide a full report! Joker? We'll be up in a moment. And see if you can get through to Admiral Anderson. The Alliance needs to know about this."

"Roger that, Commander. See you soon"

* * *

As Shepard ascended through the atmosphere, the shuttle shaking slightly, she began to catch glimpses of the ships Joker described. To call them huge would be wrong. The two smaller ones were by far larger than Turian dreadnoughts. The largest was an absolute monster of a ship, easily matching the Destiny Ascension in size. But while the Asari Flagship was full of grace and curves, evoking beauty, these Imperial ships were weapons of war. Brutish, boxy, and with what looked like a ram on the front. Surprisingly, Joker had not been, well, joking. The Normandy could fit up some of the barrels. She did not want to think about what it fired.

Despite the dread that the gigantic ships instilled in her, Jane Shepard felt a small, worming sliver of hope. Before, it had been just the Normandy against the Collectors. With the help of these 'Imperials', the raid on Horizon had been repulsed completely. Liberal estimates placed the taken colonists at less than a sixteenth of the total population. While each person taken would weigh heavily on her mind, Jane Shepard, for the first time since her resurrection, felt a sense of relief.

She wasn't alone.

Before she knew it, the shuttle had docked. Zaeed limped off to the medbay. Jane wasn't sure whether it was to flirt with Dr. Chakwas or to receive medical attention, or both. The old mercenary had been a bit more subdued on this trip than others. It seemed that the soldiers, tanks, and organization had reminded him of his war filled past. Miranda just gave a terse nod before heading back to her room. Jane hoped she could get through to her as well. Miranda was absolutely perfect at completing any task set before her, but the whole crew agreed that her 'high and mighty 'attitude could be done without. With a sigh, the SPECTRE steadied herself. It was time to face the music.

The Illusive Man appeared on the holo-viewer, reclining in his chair, silent. His cigarette hissed as it was doused against and ash-tray. Finally, after a few long moments, the grey-haired man looked up.

"Shepard. Good work on Horizon. Hopefully the Collectors will think twice before attacking another colony."

"It's not a victory. We interrupted the Collectors, but had to get our asses saved by these Imperials. They still managed to take a several hundred people from the colony.

"That's better than an entire colony, and more than we've accomplished since the abductions began. Tell me about these Imperials. Miranda seemed impressed, and that's no small thing. What is your opinion?"

"We just don't know enough right now. We know they have ships that make the Quarians look small. We know that their weapons ignore biotic shielding. We know they had no problem bypassing the colony's firewalls. They could be from the future, like they claim, or they could just be some colony that found some Prothean tech we haven't seen before. We do not know enough. There is a meeting planned for in a few hours, but for now, we can only guess."

"I want you to send their leader my way before you tell the Alliance. Cerberus could always use more allies. Back to the topic at hand, the Collectors will be more careful now, if Miranda's report is true. Still, I think we can find another way to lure them in."

"Ashley said the Alliance got a tip about me and Cerberus. Was that you?"

"I may have let it slip that you were alive. And with Cerberus."

"You risked the lives of my friend, my crew, and that entire colony? Just to lure the Collectors there?"

"A calculated risk. I suspected the Collectors were looking for you, or people connected with you. Now I know for certain. Besides, now we have even greater allies. I told you I wouldn't sit and wait while the Collectors and Reapers gather strength. They would have hit another colony eventually. And without a way to predict which one, without aid from strangers, they would have abducted everyone."

"We have to make sure they don't abduct anyone else."

"I want the Collectors stopped for that same reason. That's why we're doing this, Shepard. I'm devoting all resources to finding a way through the Omega 4 relay. We have to find a way to hit them where they live. Your team will need to be strong… as will their resolve. There's no looking back. The same goes for you. Can I assume you've put your past relationships behind you?"

"That's none of your business."

"If you insist. Shepard. Once we find a way through the Omega 4 relay to the Collector homeworld… there's no guarantee you'll return. To have any hope of surviving, you - and your entire team - must be fully committed to this."

"I'll make sure they're ready. The Reapers won't know what hit them."

"I trust you know what you're doing. I just want to be clear about your odds. I've forwarded three more dossiers. Keep building your team while I find a way through the relay. Maybe even recruit some of these 'Imperials'. And be careful Shepard. The Collectors will be watching you."

The link closed out, the Illusive Man disappearing from the imager. Turning, the former SPECTRE saw Jacob leaning against the wall, a tired expression on his face.

"I guess we're really going to do it. Hit the Omega 4 relay. Take the fight to the Collectors in person. Looking forward to the action. If what I heard from Horizon is right, we might even have a better chance than I thought."

"They're powerful, but you're right. We can do this."

"No argument there Commander. Horizon just made it hit home. Even though they got their asses kicked, that was with the help of a full army. Just… who they are, what we're up against. I don't know what to think. Gonna go take care of a little unfinished business. I imagine everyone else is too - getting some closure, you know?"

Shepard nodded absent mindedly, heading back to her quarters. She had to get these Imperials on her side, their ships could completely turn the tide against the Reapers or Collectors. Jane had to prepare, she had to make them understand.

* * *

A short time later, Jane found herself sitting on the stranger's dropship, exiting the atmosphere of Horizon for the second time that day. She had brought along the same team she had fought with, Zaeed and Miranda. The Imperials would know who they were, and the thought of having a practiced veteran at her back made the prospect of boarding a completely foreign ship that much better. Miranda was there because, well, she was Miranda. Jack of all trades, and a representative of the Illusive Man's interests. And a damn good negotiator when she needed to be.

Across from her sat ten of the trench-coated soldiers. Nine of these were the more heavily armored ones, under command of the man who had helped them out. Jane recognized the burnt dent in his armor. Apparently, the medical tech of these people was at least comparable to the Council's, perhaps even greater. The man was the only one with his helmet off, the skull-shaped face of the gasmask staring into Shepard's eyes.

The ride was silent. As communication had been difficult before, with the strangers and their corrupted, odd form of Latin, Shepard hoped that they had managed to build a translator. She had not been able to provide sufficient samples for EDI, but that red-robed robotic had claimed to translate the colony's records. He could have been bluffing, but Jane hoped not. She did not want her communications filtered through Miranda. Not that she did not trust the woman, but Miranda was loyal to Cerberus. Not Shepard.

Jane was drawn out of her thoughts as the dropship docked, apparently at the largest ship in the these Imperial's fleet. The door slid upwards, and her jaw almost dropped at the sight.

There was thousands of yellowish-tan coated soldiers, and hundreds of their vehicles. Lines of tanks, what looked like APCs, artillery, walkers, and what Shepard would have sworn were horse stalls filled the bay. Each soldier stood at attention, infantry in the front, with small squadrons of what she assumed were vehicle crews interspersed throughout. Blocks of soldiers mounted on horses stood behind the front lines of infantry, and Jane noted with interest that the horses wore gas-masks of similar color and markings to their riders. Shining lances, waving banners and the militaristic staccato beats of many drums could be heard. Despite the awe-inspiring display, Jane could not help but notice that more than a few of the vehicles were heavily battle-damaged, soldiers throughout the formations having bandages tied to limbs, several proud banners burnt and torn. These were veterans of a recent conflict.

On the ground to meet the arriving dropship stood ten more soldiers, their gear vastly differing from the others. Crested helmets that would not look out of place in Ancient Greece, shining armor with a repeated sun motif, and heavier, more bulky looking weapons, along with swords strapped to their thighs. Whoever these Imperials were, they certainly had a fetish for archaic weaponry. The memory of that soldier bisecting the Harbringer, completely ignoring it's shields, came to mind again. While the swords did appear to be archaic, Shepard decided to not underestimate these people. If what they claimed was true, they were from a far, alternate future. Their technology was not to be thought less of, no matter how strange.

These ten soldiers parted to reveal two figures. One was the female commander Shepard had met on the surface, holding her helmet and gasmask at her side. The other was a giant of a man, imposingly built, taller than a Turian. A large green great-coat hung off his broad shoulders, his chest armored by the same metallic armor as the bodyguards, the same sun motif emblazoned on the center. It was the ship captain from the visuals.

The rolling sounds of drums came to a stop.

The female commander was the first to speak.

"As you know, I am Lady-Colonel Miriel, Commander of the 547th Steel Legion, their auxiliaries, and the remnants of the 353rd Armoured Regiment, the 12th Superheavy Tank company, the 491st Rough Riders, and the 529th Steel Legion."

The giant of a man next to her stepped forward slightly. With a side glance, Shepard saw Miranda nervously cradling her weapon, while Zaeed looked slightly more relaxed. Being a veteran of actual, full-scale conflicts must have made him more prepared for such displays of power. Still, Jane could sense a general feeling of unease among her comrades and herself.

"And I am Rogue Trader Constantios Pollux, Lord of the Pollux house, Captain of the Pride of Pollux, and commander of the House Fleet."

There was a pause in the conversation, as Shepard realized they were waiting for her to speak. Reaching out her hand, she began.

"I am Commander Shepard of the Alliance, Citadel SPECTRE, and…"

With a sideways look, Jane caught Miranda's expectant stare.

"...Cerberus Operative. It's good to see you in person."

A small smile playing across his lips, Constantios nodded, taking the offered hand and shaking it softly. A word was shouted in that unknown language, and the bodyguards formed up into an escort formation, revealing a third member of the Imperial's party: A somewhat petite, younger woman, clad in tan and white hooded robes. She seemed out of place among the various military and navy personnel, keeping to the back of the group, avoiding eye contact. Perhaps an acolyte or assistant of some sort?

"The feeling is mutual. Won't you join me in the bridge? I'm sure we have much to discuss"

With that, Jane and her comrades followed Pollux, Miriel, and their bodyguard, the ten original trench-coats tailing at a respectful distance. It was a long walk past the columns of faceless soldiers, an unnerving silence descending on the group. With delayed shock, Shepard realized that she had been spoken to in English. That red-robe must have been successful in his efforts to translate. These Imperials must have translation implants of their own, for them to know the language that quickly.

At the end of what Jane guessed was the cargo bay, the group entered a rather large elevator. A red-robe was waiting for them, at what looked like the controls. Metal tentacles emerged from its back and from beneath its hood, manipulating the various levers and buttons, causing the elevator to lurch upward, before accelerating. Soft sounds of what sounded like a mix of morse code and static was heard from the red-robe, as it stared at the interface before it. It took a full ten minutes of travel, the elevator not just heading up, but to the side occasionally. The room was silent for the length of the journey, the only sounds an occasional cough or boot shuffle. With a second lurch, the elevator came to a stop, the red-robe's tentacles playing with the controls once again, the static-filled chanting coming to a stop. The doors of the elevator opened to the bridge.

The bridge was huge, just like every other thing these Imperials had. But it was not the size of the bridge, nor the view, nor the various red-robes and uniform clad officials that caught her eyes. It was the centerpiece.

A gigantic chair, almost a throne, stood at the center of the room. On it sat an elderly man, if he could still be called that. Metal tentacles connected his skull to the chair, looking almost like grotesque dreadlocks. A stylized eye topped the throne, red-robes surrounding him, attending to his every need. His eyes blazed white with power, staring straight ahead, unseeing of those around him. A strip of cloth covered his forehead, where a large, glowing, pulsing light could be seen. Almost as if a third eye was concealed beneath it. The glow faded somewhat as the enthroned man noticed the new presences, though how, Shepard did not know. He turned, inclined his head towards Pollux, before resuming his endless gaze forward.

Shaken after that encounter, the group continued on, passing through the bridge, into what appeared to be a meeting room, the soldiers and bodyguards remaining outside. The strange, white-robed woman followed them inside, standing in the back of the room, her hood concealing her eyes. Within the room, a mass of metal, lights, and metallic tentacles coiled, raising itself to be nearly fifteen feet tall, red-robes billowing at the movement. Three blue lights glowed from beneath a red hood, a desiccated and pale hand reaching out of a sleeve. A human hand, if only barely.

"It is well to meet you Shepard. I have read much on you from the archives. Shall we begin? I believe there is much to discuss"

The monstrosity's voice was monotone and robotic sounding, almost like a text to speech device. It did not walk, multiple metal appendages dragged the being across the floor, its pale, thin hand offered to the SPECTRE. She shook it. The skin felt cold and papery.

"The colonists have records of you, Shepard. You are quite interesting to read of. Unfortunately, this colony does not have the greatest library, and I have yet to commune the machine-spirit of your data-net. You have claimed that these 'Collectors' and 'Reapers' are the greatest threat to humanity, yet there is scarce evidence to support this, although I may have yet to find it. Please, explain yourself."

"The Reapers are the greatest threat to the Galaxy, and the Collectors are the greatest threat to humanity. Scores of Colonies have been completely abducted by the Collectors, and Horizon is the first one we've managed to stop them on. No one is doing anything about it, save for my crew and I, and our backer, Cerberus."

Leaning forward on the table, Constantios furrowed his brow, fingers tapping away at an unknown melody.

"Cerberus. What can you tell us about them. As far as I understand, humanity is united in something called 'The Alliance', or something called 'The Citadel'. The documents translated were not of the highest quality."

Miranda stepped forward, interjecting before Jane had a chance to speak.

"Cerberus is an organization dedicated to the advancement of the Human Race. Nothing more, nothing less. The Asari have their legendary commandos. The Salarians have the Special Tasks Group. Cerberus is Humanity's answer to those organizations."

"I see. A noble cause. But, from what we understand, Cerberus is not part of your Alliance, nor governed by your High Lords. Why is this? Surely, an organization made to enhance the inherent greatness of Mankind should be supported, and openly."

With a frustrated glare at Miranda, Jane began to speak, assuming control of the conversation once more.

"Cerberus, though they claim to only want the advancement of the human race, has been responsible for more than a few terrorist actions and unsanctioned research. Compounds have tried to make 'super-soldiers', including horrific experiments on several alien species. They are a necessary evil, no more."

The Colonel and Pollux shared a bemused look, seemingly unsurprised at the actions of Cerberus, and unworried. Why would they not care about that torture of innocents? Cerberus was far from clean, and although she needed them, Jane was not about to sing their praises to these Imperials.

"I see. Well then, what of this Citadel? If Mankind has the Alliance as its governing body, what is the Citadel? And please, inform us of the xenos that populate this Galaxy. Who are these Asari, these Salarians? All we have found is that they are xenos. What is their military might? Do they challenge humanity for dominance?"

"Look. I don't know what it's like in your time, but here, we're the newcomers. One: Our first contact was just a couple of decades ago. We have a military, but the Citadel has a bigger one. Two: The Citadel is home to a council of species, the Asari, the Salarians, the Turians, and us, the Humans. Three: The Asari are long lived, well-cultured and oldest Citadel group. The Salarians are hyper-intelligent scientists. And Four: I think it's my time to get some answers around here."

"Mankind actually… consorts with these xenos? They hold council with them? This is truly a foreign galaxy. Very well, make your inquires. I will be happy to answer what I can, as will my colleagues, I assume."

The Lady-Colonel and the red-robed metal monster nodded their assent, each looking more than a little upset. Did aliens really bother these Imperials that much? There were already some who thought humanity was not doing its best to integrate with the galactic community, what would they think of these Imperials?

"Why do you have that huge army in the storage bays? Who is this Emperor? And why, _why_ do you have horsemen next to your tanks and artillery?"

"Huge army? I appreciate the flattery, but down there live five understrength and battle-damaged regiments, no less, no more. As the surviving ranking officer, I hold command, but we will need to assign new officers as soon as possible. The Rough Riders have proven themselves again and again to be incredibly efficient at breaking through entrenched formations, scouting, and harassment tactics. As for who the Emperor is, well, you'll get a different answer from everyone. He is the savior of Mankind, who holds the dark at bay. He is the true ruler of the Galaxy. He is a wounded man kept alive with sheer psychic might and technology tens of thousands of years old. He is our God."

"The tech-priests, adepts, and lexmechanics, and members of the Mechanicus follow a different path. Technology is sacred, divine. The Machine God dictates knowledge, and without him, we would be nothing but naked savages scrabbling in the dust. His greatest aspect is the Omnissiah, the avatar of his power and knowledge. To us, the Omnissiah is the Emperor - they are one and the same."

So these newcomers, these bearers of fantastic technology and horrific weaponry, were all zealous dogmatists. This was going to be interesting.

"Understood. I think. One more question. Now what? You're removed from your Imperium, according to yourselves. You have some of the biggest and baddest ships in the galaxy, and most armies can't stand up to your weaponry. Laser tech cuts right through our shields. What will you do now?"

"Protect humanity. That is what I pledged to do at the Schola, and that is what the Steel Legion was made to do."

Shepard heaved a slight sigh of relief, along with her comrades. She had been worried they would try to become conquerors, destroying what they will. They had helped her on Horizon, but Jane had still been worried of their intentions. The last thing the galaxy needed was another threat.

"I, and no doubt my acolytes, desire to study the technology of your time. From the records I could find, it appears that mankind found its knowledge on Mars. Truly, the Omnissiah watches over the faithful. I would study this technology, and I desire to build great forges. There are no Forge Worlds to re-supply, and so we must make our own."

"I am a Rogue Trader. I often fight for money, and sometimes for friends. I desire a meeting with the leader of your Alliance, and with the leader of this Cerberus. We will have much to discuss."

"I'll see what I can do. I have to remind you of the Collectors. You say you want to protect humanity. They are our greatest threat!"

"From their performance on the planet below, I am not impressed. My soldiers suffered minimal casualties, all of those from idiots who stuck their heads out of their vehicles. What sort of raiding force attacks without any anti-armor? Your greatest threat? But, we will not be said to ignore them. How can we help?"

Support. These Imperials, though xenophobic, though strange and odd, believed her. They believed her, and wanted to help. It was a breath of fresh air, compared to the idiocy and denial of the Council.

"At the moment, we have no way to know when they will attack next, but the bloody nose we've given them here will make them think twice about another raid. Most of the resources you have are made for open war, and we just aren't at that stage yet."

Pollux was the next to speak, the lull in the conversation punctuated by slight whispering from the unknown robed woman. It was too quiet for Shepard to pick up the particulars, but the Rogue Trader looked surprised, intrigued, and approved in quick succession.

"Shepard, until our resources are needed, we will be doing what we desire, and we will be meeting with your nation's leaders, with this 'Council' that you speak of. We require some time to reflect on the information you have told us, and would greatly appreciate that 'First Contact package' your comrade spoke of earlier. However, we will not be denying you aid. My assistant here has suggested we send over a representative from each of our respective branches, both to act as a link to us, and to aid your in your journey. They will meet you on the surface within an hour. Farewell Shepard, and until our paths cross again, may the Emperor guide you"

The two humans stood up, as Shepard and her team rose.

"Thank you for the help, and until we meet again."

* * *

 **AN: Well, here it is! The next chapter will be up when it is up. Hopefully soon. There will be action coming up, and there will be a member of each group from the Imperials, so don't worry about a faction not getting attention. And please, point out my typos or lore errors. I don't exactly have a proof-reader at the moment, and I appreciate the help.**

 **Shepard131, frankieu, Guest, FallenToHell, Plaugebearer Pagulea, OBSERVER01, AyeJimmy123, and everyone else who read, reviewed, and all that jazz: Thanks. Means alot, and keep being you.**

 **Guest: Dates should be fixed, thank you.**

 **dekuton: Close, but not quite. You'll have your answer soon enough.**

 **edboy4926: TIM is not going to be corrupted, probably. I hated that part of ME3, and he is by far one of my favorite characters in the setting.**

 **Commisar Carl: The Skitarii in this are not going to be personality-less servitors, but they are pretty robotic, in more ways than one. I might just include that servo-skull as well. And while the no-eyelids thing and tubes to lungs thing is freaky, you have to remember that that only counts if the Skitarii still has eyes or lungs. Alphas are more than 50% mechanical, so who knows what is still organic on them.**


	5. Chapter 5: Sigismund

Sigismund sat on a flat rock, helmet and gas mask slung over his shoulder, absent mindedly scratching his growing stubble. His scars from the Avenmoore campaign were tingling, never a good sign. His pack was placed on the ground before him, containing all of his personal possessions: The Infantryman's Uplifting Primer(Spinward Front Edition), a miniature shrine of the Aquilia, a skull and cog amulet(gifted by a proselytizing enginseer from Ryza) a personal grooming kit, and his medal case. Carefully taking the case out, he absentmindedly brushed his fingers across the glass, staring down at the medals contained below: Duelist Honors, granted after the battle for Grenbleu Fields. Triple Skull, granted after escaping a Drukhari torture chamber. The Ribbon Intrinsic, granted to the remains of his unit after the fall of Avenmoore. Order of the Scarlet Wing, a reminder of his first Valkyrie drop. A sigh escaped the Sergeant, as he placed the medal case back into his pack. Memories of times past. Memories better off forgotten.

Looking up, he saw a Skitarius Ranger Alpha approaching. The Ranger was accompanied by a floating servo-skull, no doubt to serve as a long-distance link to his Martian master. Though the Skitarius probably weighed close to 200 kilos, Sigismund had never heard the augmented soldier approaching. Damned tech-priests and their tinkering. Sigismund appreciated the aid that a Skitarii Alpha could offer, but he hated how the Rangers snuck up on people. He swore they enjoyed it, if they could still enjoy things. With the Mechanicus, you could never be sure.

"Skitarius."

"Sergeant Sigismund. I am 4942-Isidor-7. We have met"

"So we have. You Skitarii all look the same to me. "

"And you meatbags to us. We are pleased that you were selected. Your service record is exemplary, and your kindness towards Mechanicus members on Avenmoore has not been overlooked."

"I was obeying orders. Nothing more."

"As you say. Our third comrade approaches."

Sigismund ventured a glance behind his back, seeing the petite robed girl from the bridge approach. The emblem of the Astra Telepathica embroidered on her heavy hood, hiding her face from view. With a dissatisfied grunt, Sigismund turned back to his pack. He did not trust Psykers, and if the rumors were to believed, this Rogue Trader's pet was a Telepath. The Guardsman liked his privacy, and the idea of his mind being invaded by this barely trained girl did not seem appealing. Her footsteps were soft, unsure, and loud as she walked forward, almost stumbling on the loose soil.

"H-hello? I am Amelie, it's good to meet you two! Er, three? I'm sorry, but I don't know your names."

"Sergeant Sigismund."

"4942-Isidor-7, Ranger Alpha."

"And his name?"

Here Sigismund looked up again. The psyker had thrown back her hood, revealing a lightly freckled and pale face framed by short hair, her implants barely peeking out from behind the blonde strands. The young girl was pointing towards the servo-skull, who had been performing a slow, lazy circle around her, before coming to a bobbing stop, floating before her, almost analyzing her.

"That is Servo-skull designation #B0B28A82, made from vat-born bone and brain, blessed by the Arch-Magos himself"

"It's… It's sort of cute. Does it have a name? I mean, like an actual one, not just a designation?"

The Skitarius shook his head slowly, tilting it at the question. Though Sigismund knew better, he could have sworn Isidor had blinked.

"It does not have more than the holy serial number assigned to it. However, for ease of reference, you may name it."

"Bob?"

"It is a short name. It will suffice."

A barely-trained, immature, and sheltered girl was their psyker. He had had worse squad members. They generally did not survive that long, but hopefully, this one was different. When Sigismund thought the mission could not get worse, the shuttle from their new allies touched down. He did not like it. He did not like it at all. There were no comforting Aquilia, no inscribed Cog and Skulls, no tech-priests exiting the ramp. The Skitarius appeared to be just as upset, if not more so, making the sign on the cog across his breastplate. The damned psyker was smiling at the sight.

"Aren't you at least a bit excited to meet new people?"

"No."

"Even if my Emotion Dampers had not been removed, I could not be less excited."

With a hiss, the door opened, the redheaded woman from before waiting inside the shuttle for them, still clothed in that black, Inquisitorial-looking armor. The shuttle was empty beside her, room left open for the Imperial's belongings. With a nod, Sigismund slide his pack beneath his seat, powersword, las-gun, and assorted weaponry strapped to the bag. The Skitarius sat opposite to him, placing his pile of weapons and repair tools next to himself. Isidor-7 had no personal belongings, only his equipment. Amelie came in last, lugging a small suitcase in behind her, a las-pistol strapped to her side. Good. At least she was not completely unprepared. She smiled at the redheaded woman, waving shyly. To Sigismund's slight surprise, the woman smiled back, if half-heartedly. Opening her mouth, she began to speak, the Guardsman understanding her for the first time, the implant dully twinging in his skull(The tech-priest had assured him that the feeling would go away with time. Probably.)

"It's good to meet you two, and to see you again, soldier. I'm Commander Jane Shepard, and you are?"

"Sanctioned Psyker Amelie Leblanche, of the Astra Telepathica, Telepath devotion"

"Ranger Alpha 4942-Isidor-7."

"Sergeant Sigismund Solhiem."

"And what the hell is that?"

"Servo-skull designation #B0B28A82, vat-born, blessed and sanctified for long-range interstellar communication. The psyker wishes it to be named 'Bob"

"I see. And why is it a skull?"

"The human body is nought but an inefficient machine, but it provides an excellent starting point for augmenting into tech-thralls and other constructs."

The woman nodded uncomfortably, looking unnerved at the floating construct. Sigismund did not blame her: he liked the cogboys, but they and their creations could become more than slightly disturbing. Turning back to the group, this Commander Shepard began to speak again.

"According to your leaders, you're in your past, and in an alternate reality. None of that has any bearing to the mission, but I need you to understand that things may be different than you are used to. You've each been assigned quarters, and you each have a personal computer with a connection to the Data-net"

Isidor visibly stiffened at the thought of using an unblessed cognitor. Sigismund was sure the Skitarius would light his incense and apply the sacred oils soon after their arrival. He might ask the Mechanicus member to do the same. While the Skitarius was not a tech-priest, he would still know the proper litanies. The Guardsman did not know if it would make any difference, but his equipment had always worked better after being blessed by an enginseer. It couldn't hurt.

"It might be best if you acquaint yourself with the basic history and current Galactic situation. After we dock, I do need you to first stop by Chakwas, the ship's doctor. She'll give you the vaccines needed, and if any of you need specific medication, she'll be there to help. Any questions?"

"When will we get to meet our new crewmates?"

Amelie had raised her hand, looking much too excited for all of this. Shepard smiled again, a much more genuine one than before.

"After you meet with Doctor Chakwas, you have free reign of the ship. EDI can help direct you. She's our…. Ship's intelligence."

Tilting his head slightly, Isidor turned towards Shepard, before turning away again. A ship's machine spirit that could and would actually communicate with the crew. Now that, that would be a novel experience. Silence fell over the shuttle, Jane Shepard curiously glancing at Sigismund. He had been the only one to remain quiet through the ride. He did not like people, and he did not like talking. Thankfully, the rest of the ride was short, a slight bump stirring the passengers as they docked. With a hiss, the door opened, and the Imperials saw the interior of their new home: The Normandy.

What stood out to Sigismund the most was the cleanliness. In all Imperial ships he had boarded, there had always been a perpetual layer of grime, persisting in the corners and grooves, no matter how recent a cleaning had been. This ship was clean, almost too clean for his liking. The lighting was the next thing he noticed. While not too much brighter than Imperial transports, it was harsh, almost blue-shaded. Once his eyes adjusted, Sigismund saw how simply the ship was designed. It reminded him too much of the smooth lines of the Eldar, too much of xenos tech. His hand unconsciously went to his entrenching tool, knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. Letting go of the weapon, he took a deep breath. These was not the Eldar. These were humans. He did not have to fight, he could relax. A rare occurrence for him.

The three Imperials were led to the elevator, the Skitarius' silent steps drowned by the clumsy strides of Amelie and the heavy tread of his own boots. The elevator ride was surprisingly short, and Sigismund remembered that this ship was said to be small. Very small. The elevator's doors slide open, and there was the med-bay. Like everything on the ship, it was tiny, with barely enough room for a squad, let alone to service a warship. Maybe this 'Alliance' did things differently.

"I'm needed on the upper decks, but I'll be back in a moment. Chakwas is an excellent doctor, don't worry."

Amelie was first, entering the room with a slight sense of wonder, her wide eyes taking in the new surroundings. Once she entered the room, Sigismund slide down the wall and sat, leaning his head, closing his eyes. A little rest never did any harm. In what seemed like moments, the psyker exited, waving a nervous goodbye to the Skitarius and the Guardsman, before hauling her bags up to the elevator. Sigismund heard his name called, and into the med-bay he went.

"Hello there, you must be Mr. Solhiem. This is just a routine check-up, don't worry. I'm sure everything is fine. I have some vaccines ready as well, as you might just need them, though I won't know for sure until I run some tests. Now then, please remove your coat and shirt, just place them on that chair over there. That's good, now… Oh. I didn't know you had cybernetics. This may complicate some things.."

Sigismund slide his heavy, environment-proof coat off, placing it over a nearby chair, next to his discarded carapace armor. Underneath, he was wearing his munitorum-issued undershirt, a tan shirt with his unit number printed on the shoulder. That followed the way of the coat, the Guardsman wincing as his scars felt the fresh air.

His right arm had been amputated halfway up the forearm, replaced by cybernetics that he usually covered with a glove: The Fall of Avenmoore. His left shoulder, pec, and bicep were more scar tissue than skin by this point, with small burn marks appearing across them: Drukhari Torture chamber. A long scar stretched from his mid chest to side, faded and white, but still visible: Gang fight in his home hive. His left side was heavily bruised as well, though the broken rib had been healed by the medicae back on the planet And, of course, his two missing fingers on his left hand, replaced by cybernetics as well: Grenbleu Fields.

Thank the Emperor for competent medicae.

Thankfully, this medicae did not seem to care too much about his scars, only tutting slightly at the sight. She was not a whiteshield, having seen her first veteran. Sigismund nodded to himself as the medicae, Chakwas, turned away. He believed that they were going to get along just fine.

The examination did not last too long, only a few breathing exercises and a quick injection. He winced slightly as the area was cleaned, the alcohol stinging in his scars. A quick pat on the back, and he was ready to go.

"Watch yourself out there. You're healthy at the moment, which is more than surprising, given the amound of damage your body's taken. According to the Commander, you were hit pretty bad down there. Your doctors must have wonderful equipment, given how fast you've healed. I'd love to see it sometime. Be careful out there, Sigismund."

"Thanks, Doc. Until we meet again."

"Hopefully under good circumstances. Now, let's see… 49...42-Isidor-7? What kind of name is that?"

Sigismund took that as his cue to leave, quickly sliding his coat on, leaving it open for once. Pack over his shoulder, rifle in hand, the Guardsman headed to the elevator, and to his new home.

He felt somewhat awkward operating the elevator buttons himself, wondering why this ship did not have a tech-priest for it. Then again, given the size of the ship, perhaps a Mechanicus member was not needed. There were only five decks, after all. With a quiet 'ding', he was at the crew quarters. A feminine voice sounded around him.

"I hope you find everything to your standards. I must admit, it is intriguing to have a man from the future aboard the ship."

Dropping his pack, Sigismund was on one knee, his rifle raised and primed. He couldn't see anything, but that meant nothing. It seemed half the xenos he fought against had cloaking technology by now.

"Who and where are you? Identify yourself."

"Sergeant Sigismund, please don't shoot. I don't know how well the hull would take it. I am the ship's intelligence, EDI. If you need any help, there is a terminal in your room you may use to contact me."

The Sergeant lowered his rifle, almost shuddering as the Machine Spirit of the Normandy spoke to him. He had not been a religious man, but he resolved to speak to Isidor about matters of faith. Perhaps the Martians had it right about the Emperor, and maybe it was time to trade in his aquilia for a cog. Maybe.

Still unnerved by the experience, Sigismund continued down the hallway, the Machine Spirit speaking once again, telling him where his room was. His free hand fingered his cog and skull amulet as it did so, reciting under his breathe the only rite he could remember from the tech-priests. Once inside his room, he began to unpack. Pack placed down. Medals on the desk, next to the cognitor. Shrine of the Aquilia on the bedside table. Lasgun taken apart, cleaned, and re-assembled. He found familiarity in the task, his mind going blessedly blank at the simple, repetitive task. Quietly, he whispered the rituals taught to him during training. There was minimal dirt build-up, dust from the last engagement. All three standard issue powerpacks were at full charge, as well as the six others he had picked up throughout his campaigns. All the components to rebuild his lasrifle as a long-las or a las-carbine were in his pack, and in impeccable condition. Not that a little dirt could hurt a lasgun's performance, but officers and commissars tended to be a bit strict about that sort of thing.

With a sigh, he placed the cleaned lasrifle under his bed, his las-pistol next to be cleaned, the process taking much less time due to the smaller nature of the gun. It went under his pillow once all dirt and filth had been wiped away. His power sword went on his hip, buckled securing in its scabbard, turned off. The energy field always burned all blood and dirt away while activated, and so, there was no need for a cleaning. His helmet and mask were placed away as well, as Sigismund headed out the door. Apparently, it was time for dinner, with several crew members heading towards the mess-hall. He buckled his coat as he headed out. There was no need for it, but again, he had no desire to anger the officers aboard this vessel, or whatever the local's equivalent of a commissar was. The Guardsman paused at the door, before turning back to his room, reverently taking his medal case, buckling on each on. It was the proper thing to do, and even as a low-born Hive-city native, Sigismund had some sense of decorum.

Sword at his side, medals on his breast, coat on his back, Veteran Sergeant Sigismund entered the mess-hall.

There were xenos in the room. Two of them.

While rare, it was not unheard of for the Imperial Guard to run missions with non-hostile xenos. Even the great Imperial hero Ciaphas Cain was rumored to have worked with the Tau once. In addition, the xenos seemed to be getting along with the crew decently well, both sitting at the Commander's table, the grey one even playing cards with her. He still hated the alien, no matter how close to this Commander Shepard they seemed.

All of this crossed Sigismund's mind as he entered the room. His hand tightened its grip on his powersword, never letting go of the weapon as he walked to grab his food. The cook followed his gaze, shaking his head at the sight of the aliens.

"I could never get used to them either, but the Commander likes 'em, so what the hell. Mess Sergeant Gardner, at your service."

"Veteran Sergeant Sigismund. Good to meet you."

Sigismund shook his head at Shepard and the xenos with her, murmuring " _disgusting"_ under his breath. It seems that he had much to learn about this organization and their xeno-loving ways. Turning back to the Mess Sergeant, he gestured slightly to the group.

"You ever lost someone to aliens?"

"Well, not Turians or Salarians, but I did survive a batarian raid. And lemme tell you, my opinion of them isn't exactly high. But those Collectors, they're something else. I'm just glad we got Shepard on our side, we're going to need everything and everyone we can find. Anyways, can I get you something, or do you want to just stare at the food?"

Sigismund just nodded, taking his tray of slop and what might be meat, sitting down by himself. The food was not the best he had ever had, but compared to the soylent virdens rations that had been issued for the past few weeks, the taste was amazing. To his surprise, he was joined by the translator from the surface. The brunette sat opposite to him, watching him for a moment, before extending her hand.

"Miranda Lawson, Cerberus Operative and leader of the Lazarus Cell. It's good to meet you outside of a warzone. Sigismund, wasn't it?"

"Yes. What do you need?"

"Cutting right to the chase? The organization I work for, Cerberus, has been hard-pressed to keep its watch over humanity. With an army like yours, we could do some real work, help those in need."

"I'm just a Sergeant. I can't help you. You should talk to my Commander, not me"

"According to the dossier that your Colonel shared with us, you're a little bit more that 'just a Sergeant.' Medals for bravery and excellence, more than twenty full years of combat experience, and, according to your Colonel, somewhat of a regimental legend."

"I was just following orders. Nothing else."

"Cerberus can use a man like you, and Cerberus could use your influence in your regiment. I'll be in my office, but talk to me if you have anything that could help us, or, if there's anything we could do to help you. Cerberus looks after its own. Goodbye, Sigismund."

"Ms. Lawson."

He inclined his head as she left, leaving him confused. What in the Emperor's name was that about? Shrugging, the Guardsman went back to eating, still trying to puzzle out what this Miranda expected of him. While she did claim to help mankind, he still did not trust her. She was too perfect, too precise in her movements. Too much like the Eldar.

Sigismund pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He was a simple man, a simple soldier. He would deal with that situation, whatever it was, if or when it came up. As of the moment, with a belly full of food, the Guardsman left the mess hall and returned to his quarters. It had been a long day, and his body needed rest. Unbuckling his sword, placing his medals back in their case, and folding his coat, Sigismund prepared for bed. He could deal with the world tomorrow.

* * *

 **AN: Well, here it is. I rewrote that dinner scene so many times, and I'm still not happy with the final version, but what the hell. Also, I know this chapter is a bit slow, but now that we're away from the initial action, some introductions need to be made, and some backstory needs to be shown. Anyways, thank you all for the reviews, and to address concerns:**

 **the new god: While it is an awesome theory, that's a fic for a later time. As for the moment, no other arrivals from 40k are planned, though that might change in the future.**

 **edboy4926: We'll see. Wouldn't want to spoil anything, would we?**

 **grey: Praise the Emperor indeed, though I do have something else planned for TIM. He won't be going away any time soon.**

 **Mr. Exterminatus: Thank you so much for pointing out the size mistake. The chapters should not not contain people comparing the Citadel to an Imperial cruiser. For some reason, I had the Cruicible confused with the Citadel, and that led to all sorts of miscalculations in size. But, as to your other point, I'm afraid I must disagree. Plenty of Rogue traders have access to Cruisers, and given that the Pollux family has ties to the Mechanicus lasting back to the War of the Beast, it would be odd if they did not have at a Cruiser-level ship. In addition, the _Pride of Pollux_ is a Lunar-class Cruiser, one of the most common variants found across the Imperium. **

**Everyone else: Thank you again for the reviews, and more is coming.**


	6. Chapter 6: Isidor and Amelie

Once the Guardsman had completed being examined by the medicae, Isidor-7 was called in. He strode forward, iron feet silent against the floor, red coat flowing around him. The medicae was older, seemingly experienced. However, as a servant of the Omnissiah, Isidor-7 had never needed a medicae to heal injuries. He had only needed tech-priests to graft new gifts from the Machine God.

"4942-Isidor-7, my, that's a mouthful of a name. Now then, I'll need you to get out of your, ah, armor and cloak before we proceed."

"As property of Mars and my Arch-Magos, I am authorized to unequip my equipment and set down my weaponry. You are not authorized to change, modify, or tinker with any equipment, cybernetic enhancements, or weaponry. You are authorized to observe, scan, and note the gifts the Machine God gives. Thus was decreed by the Arch-Magos. Are we understood?"

"If you say so. Now, am I going to have to wait around, or can we get this over with?"

Without saying a word, the Skitarius reached up, activating seals at the edges of his helmet, tossing his red hood back. Beneath the metal cap, a pale, stubbled head could be seen, shaved clean and branded with his designation, his Forge World, and the Arch-Magos that owned him. His face, if one could still call it that, was more than half mechanical. Gone was a mouth, gone were lips. In its place was a rebreather grafted to his face, allowing for both speech and air intake. His eyes were no more, replaced by bionic ones years ago. They allowed for targeting and data-harvesting to be much more efficient. Both glowed with a soft blue, iron plating neatly outlining the sockets that had once held organic eyes. Placing his helmet on the nearby table, Isidor-7 released the seals on his torso armor, a soft _hiss_ being heard as air, trapped since his last maintenance cycle, was released. His backpack had been released at the same time, his bionic arms catching it before it hit the floor, gently leaning it against a wall. The cyborg's chest was pallid, overmuscled, and scored with hundreds of surgery scars. One side glowed, outlining a deformed and metal-plated ribcage, the light a result of a cybernetic lung. Iron and bronze strips crossed over his chest, providing additional reinforcement, and providing support for his two completely bionic arms. His cloak fell to the floor, no longer held in place by the torso armor.

The medicae's eyes were wide, her brows raised, her mouth slightly opened in shock.

"What _happened_ to you?"

"I have been blessed by the Omnissiah"

* * *

The medicae had given him an x-ray and an injection, before allowing him to leave. He saw her retrieve a bottle of amasec from a cupboard, pouring herself a large glass of the alcoholic fluid. It was not often one saw someone given the gifts of the Machine-God, and an even rarer occurrence one was allowed to see the augments of a Skitarius. Isidor-7 pitied her. The Machine-God would show her the light, eventually.

He proceeded down the hallway, pack of equipment, weaponry, sacred oils, and incense held easily in one mechanical hand. The servo-skull floated after him. After exposing the many modifications he had to the medicae, Isidor-7 deemed that the skull may cause undue duress. In addition, given how Commander Shepard had reacted to it, it may be best to keep the skull close. While the augments and quantum machinery was sturdy, the bone covering and organic parts were not. Best to not risk it being damaged.

The elevator opened to the crew quarters, and a voice sounded around him. The "Ship's Intelligence" that had been mentioned. Was it an accursed Abominable Intelligence? Or simply a blessed Machine Spirit?

"Hello, 4942-Isidor-7. I am the Ship's Enhanced Defense Intelligence, or EDI for short. Your room should be on your left, a few steps down the corridor."

Isidor-7 froze in his steps as he heard the voice. His voice box crackled with the blessed binary chant, the Benediction of Analysis. The servo-skull, his constant aide, began scanning, looking for the needed information. Contrary to a layman's belief, telling a powerful Machine Spirit from a Abominable Intelligence was much more difficult that one would expect. There were certain key differences. Firstly, an Abominable Intelligence was self-improving, while Machine Spirits were created with all the knowledge they needed, or taught their knowledge. As The Mysteries commanded: "Sentience is the ability to learn the value of knowledge". Secondly, The Warnings state that "A soul can only be bestowed by the Omnissiah", and "The Soulless Sentience is the enemy of all". Should this 'EDI' have been created as a servitor, or use human flesh as a basis for its intelligence, it would still not be tech-heresy. Isidor-7, while pious, was not a theologian. He was a Skitarius, and the matters of theology were best left up to the Arch-Magos. A soft chirp sounded from the servo-skull, before a stream of the binary chant exploded from its vox. It had completed its scan: No cyber-organic parts found. 'EDI' was not a servitor, nor, apparently was anything else on this ship. The thought worried Isidor-7 slightly, but perhaps these humans needed only to be introduced to the advantages servitors could bring. The secondary scan brought relief. The Intelligence aboard this ship could analyze and draw conclusions, but only when fed information from secondary sources. While this scan was far from conclusive, and this EDI would warrant further study, it appeared that it was not an Abominable Intelligence. The skull began its upload of information to the Astropath aboard the Pride of Pollux.

Isidor-7 had lied to Amelie about the servitor's vat-grown origins, feeling that she may not enjoy knowing this particular servo-skull's past. For it had been an Astropath, turned into the servitor, used for long distance communication by the Adeptus Mechanicus. It was a Transmat, the fragment of the STC for this more compact model found by the House of Pollux and exchanged for various upgrades to the Rogue Trader's fleet.

"4942-Isidor-7? Your room is on the left. Are you there, Isidor? I can send for someone if you need help."

"This unit is fully functional. I will continue on."

The voice of the ship's Machine Spirit caused Isidor-7 to terminate that tangent thought process as his primary one, delegating it to sub-routine analysis. His red robe flowing behind him, the Skitarius proceeded to his chamber, unloading his equipment. It was time to get to work. His weaponry needed to be blessed, and the technology of this place needed to be understood, so their Machine Spirits could be pleased. He strode to the cogitator, pressed the activation rune, and began.

It took naught but five minutes of study to horrify the Skitarius. Upon the world of Rannoch, the greatest tech-heresy had been committed, and the fears of the Mechanicus brought to fruition. Abominable Intelligences, with fleets, armies, and stations. Xenos-made, perverted, disgusting abominations that defied the Machine God with their existence. Each Warning violated, the wisdom of the Omnissiah trodden down into nothingness. Isidor-7 furiously performed the Rite of Communication, binary chant filling the Astopathic servo-skull, spurred by the bursts of static noise from the Skitarius, dispatched the newly acquired information to the Arch-Magos. The blood-red banner of Mars would unfold on that cursed world, or the Mechanicus would wipe itself out trying.

* * *

Amelie had been directed to her room by the Machine Spirit, a kinder one than she was used to. In fact, the few members of the ship's crew she had met thus far appeared to be much kinder than the guardsmen, fleet officers, and planetary governors she usually met. Perhaps they did not have as many dealings with psykers? Despite her suspicions, Amelie decided not to announce her powers to openly. She knew it was wrong, but, on the other hand, it was nice not be treated like a tool. Like an overheated plasma gun about to explode. Besides, Pollux had wanted her to study these people as much as she could, and that would be much easier if they did not suspect her abilities.

Her room was small and sparse, but she did not mind too much. It was better than the Black Ships. Far better. Suppressing a shudder at the memory of that foul place, Amelie set down her bag, and began to unpack her belongings. A pic-capture of her and her mentor, Mikhiel, on the Pride of Pollux. A small, swaying sculpture of a local dancer from a pleasure world. Her favorite novel(My Wish to Generate Children with You is only Exceeded by My Devotion to Him, a romance novel set on the reputed paradise world of Krieg) was placed on the desk, right next to her holo-player containing her favorite series(Arbitrator Foreboding). Her sketching supplies were placed by her bed and the room's illuminator, just incase she felt inspiration in the middle of the night.

A binary chant began to sound through the wall next to her, raising in pitch and frequency until it became little more than high-pitched static. The Skitarius must be her neighbor. Closing her eyes, Amelie let herself interact with the warp. She knew it was dangerous, she knew that there would be predators lurking beyond the edges of consciousness, but she couldn't resist the temptation. After all, curiosity killed the felinid. Besides, ever since that fateful jump, she had been itching to test her abilities in this new universe. Amelie began to use her psychic abilities, careful to only skim the surface of her power. She did _not_ want to attract the attention of things that should go unnamed. She entered the Skitarius' mind, just barely touching the surface of his thoughts. The mind was strange, addled by chem-treatments, seemingly random parts replaced by machinery. All she could understand from him was unbridled rage, at who, or what, she did not know. As the ship was not being torn apart by the horrific weaponry of the Mechanicus, the psyker could assume is that the object of this anger was not aboard. Amelie was a little worried, but, given how Skitarii often had enhanced aggression and belligerence, she was not surprised. Opening her eyes, Amelie sighed. She was disappointed in herself. Despite her dead mentor's praise, she was not as proficient in telepathy as she wished she could be. As she knew she could be.

Something had felt different this time she used her abilities. It felt like there was less pressure on her mind, and more potential. But, more importantly, the warp had felt, well, clean. Whenever she had used her powers before, tapping into the warp felt like touching a rotting pile of blood, guts, and _wrongness_. Here, it felt clean, and had a sense of _emptiness_ to it. There was no violent flashing through the fringes of her mind, there was no feeling of warp predators just outside the edges of her consciousness. There was nothing, except a gigantic, untapped well of potential.

Amelie smiled. It was time to truly test her abilities.

Casting her thoughts wide, she searched for the minds on the ship. The Assignment had designated her as an Epsilon level psyker. Outside of the psykers currently in Lord Pollux's fleet, there seemed to be very few of them in this human 'Alliance', if there were any at all. The Skitarius had not reacted to the gentle touch of her mind, and the only other Imperial was the Guardsman. Despite being a somewhat respected, somewhat disgraced veteran soldier, Amelie had a low opinion of the Guardsman. In her experience, they were all nasty, brutish men with crude senses of humor. There would be no real resistance to her inquisitive search. She wondered what secrets the crew were hiding.

The first interesting mind she came across was a bright beacon of intelligence, shining like a glowing fire next to pale candles. Countless ideas, theories, and possibilities passed through it, jumping from one thought to the next without pause. Yet, somehow, every jump was connected, every change in pace or subject somehow guided with a single-minded purpose. The mind was unlike any other Amelie had come across in her(admittedly limited) experience. With surprise, and no small amount of curiosity, she realized this mind was not human. It must be one of the new xenos from this galaxy, a species unmet by Imperial explorers until now. Though Amelie felt a slight bit of xenophobia, she did not care as much as another Imperial might. She had been raised, for the most part, on a Rogue Trader's bridge. There were worse things than xenos, and this one had not yet tried to kill her, or people she knew. It couldn't be that be that bad.

Withdrawing from that mind, Amelie turned her light touch to the next mind that she could find. This one was focused, where the previous had been scattered. It was held together with singular plans and plots, vague ideas of orders and commands hiding beneath the surface. Beneath the hardened exterior, schemes upon schemes existed, though Amelie dared not dig deeper. She did not want to alert the woman she was watching, and diving deeper than surface thoughts would be even riskier than what she was doing at the moment. Turning her mind's eye elsewhere, Amelie searched for another to read.

She found one that had almost slipped through the cracks of her search. It was not as vibrant as others, but there was a quiet determination that outshone the brightest intellect. The Psyker smiled as she brushed over the mind: it was of the Commander, this Lady Shepard. Shepard's name was fitting, given her thoughts. She dreamed of saving those she knew from this galaxy's horrors, of helping others. Though more that a little rough around the edges, this Commander Shepard seemingly thought in terms of who she could help. Compared to the bloodthirsty Imperial Guard Commanders and condescending xenos she had met under the Lord Trader's employ, it was a welcome change.

Tired from her psychic adventures, Amelie prepared to stop the use of her abilities, before deciding on exploring the other Imperial on the ship. Sergeant Sigismund, the Guardsman. Stretching her thoughts forth, she was able to sense an immediate sense of fear and readiness in his mind, before it hardened into an impenetrable, unreadable cage. Only one thought could be heard from the Sergeant:

" **Get out of my head, Psyker.** "

Shocked, Amelie withdrew. She had not expected a simple Sergeant to be so prepared against psychic intrusions. Then again, he was a veteran. Perhaps he had faced psychic foes before? The thought worried her, and she hoped that the man would not be to judgmental of her. After all, it had only been a surface level probe at his thoughts, it wasn't that intrusive. At least, she hoped not. Due to her relatively young age, she had not had too much experience with probing other's minds. It might be best for her to hold off on it for the time. Until she got more practice.

Amelie prepared for bed. She had been to busy using her abilities to reach the mess hall in time for food, and so, she broke out a bar of soylent viridens from the Pollux. It wasn't the best food, but it was filling. Besides, this Commander Shepard would no doubt want to see them the next day, either for a debriefing, or whatever they needed to do on this ship. It wouldn't hurt to get a good night's rest.

* * *

 **AN: And now, the more boring chapters are done. Sorry for the shortness of Chapters 5 and 6, but there wasn't much I could add without advancing the story beyond where I wanted it. Plus, these parts can be more than a little boring to write at parts. Anyways, on to reviews!**

 **Imoneoldfart: Ask and you shall receive! The Ad-mech don't get enough credit, especially the Skitarii.**

 **Lanzador: As awesome as that sounds, I do want to keep the Imperials _somewhat_ on the same scale as ME. An Ark-Mechanicus or Gloriana-Class would just steamroll! But, once this story is done, there is potential for some Andromeda shenanigans, so let's not rule that out just yet.**

 **Mr. Exterminatus: A Pollux-centric chapter is planned for the chapter after next, so you'll see more about him and his fleet soon. And yes, the House of Pollux is quite old, and in quite good relations with the Mechanicus. Therefore, the ships have goodies like auto-loaders and a few other things, freeing up some space. In addition, some things are removed. More info about the fleet, the House of Pollux, and the specs will be released with his chapter, never worry. Also, I do appreciate the input. Thank you!**

 **: I don't plan on bringing in anything else. While the Imperials can defeat most everything in the ME universe in a straight-up battle, there are only 3 ships and around 10,000 Guardsmen. They can't be everywhere at once. That's the challenge they face, not chaos, nor 40k xenos. Thank you for the kind words, by the way!**

 **grey: I had forgotten about that comic! To bad it ended early.**

 **Guest: No Imperial ship is bigger than the Citadel. Maccrage's Honor, which I believe is the biggest ship in the Imperium, is only half the length. However, when you factor in stuff like the Phalanx, the Rock, and Blackstone fortresses, the Citadel seems absolutely tiny in comparison.**

 **Guest: Universe-class Mass Conveyors are the biggest ships currently produced by the Imperium, according to Lexicanum. They are also 12 kilometers. But, as I said above, Imperial stations and fortresses dwarf their ME counterparts just as much as Imperial Ships dwarf ME Ships.**

 **Commissar Carl: Ask and you shall receive! And thank you!**

 **3picgoon: While the rank and file of the Steel Legion have generic gasmasks, the Lieutenants have skull-shaped ones, according to official art and the minis. As for why Sergeant Sigismund has a Lieutenant helmet instead of a Sergeant one, well, you'll find out soon enough. The cognitor/cogitator thing should be fixed, thanks. The Skitarius does not freak out about EDI because of the above. As for the size comparisons, well, you have to remember that Shepard and the ME races don't really have the same frame of reference as we do. They're just comparing things to what they see as similar, regardless of actual similarities.**

 **Thank you all for your reviews, and the next chapter will be up when I can get to it! Also, with the character introductions mostly done, we can move on to the action and diplomacy soon! Yay, fun things to write!**


	7. Chapter 7: Dossier - Tali

Shepard found Chakwas in her office, asleep, in her chair. A bottle of brandy stood next to her feet on the desk, half empty. With a gentle knock on the doorframe, the doctor awoke, blinking at the bright lights of the Normandy, a few unlady-like curses slipping from her lips.

"What…? Oh, it's you. Morning Shepard. Did you have anything better to do than deprive a poor old woman of her sleep?"

"If you're working for Cerberus, you're certainly not poor. And actually, I came here about our new arrivals."

"The Imperials?"

"The Imperials."

"I see. Let me just… ah, here those files are. Now then, let's begin. The girl, Amelie, is fairly normal. She appears to have some implants, but I've been unable to determine their purpose. There's a few surface similarities to biotic implants, but the bio-tech is just to advanced. You told me these people are from the 41st millenium. I'm surprised we can interface with anything at all."

"What about the soldier? Sigismund?"

"He's a veteran. Some of his scars have patterning to them, and I would guess torture as the cause. Add that to the age of some scars compared to the freshness of others… Sigismund's been fighting for a long time. It's hard for an old soldier to learn new tricks. It's probably best to keep him off of diplomatic missions."

"Understood. Now, the red-robe, Isidor. Is he an alien, or a human, or….?"

"I don't know what to call him. He used to be human, at the very least. I don't know how much of him is human anymore. His limbs are all robotic, most of his respiratory system as well. Around 30% of his brain is something else. The scan showed traces of almost every element we know of in his body, and a few we don't. You'd need an engineer to take a look at him, not a doctor. Even then, I don't know how much it would help. "

She sighed, rubbing her brow. Glancing at the bottle, Chakwas took a second to see if it was empty. Upon discovering that it was, the doctor sighed again, setting it down, looking up at Shepard with a tired look in her eyes.

"I'm not as young as I once was, Shepard. But more importantly, you aren't either. Be careful out there, and be careful around these Imperials. We need you Shepard, and Cerberus can't raise you from the dead every time."

"Don't worry about me, Chakwas. I'll be alright. Thanks for your advice, God knows I'll need it. And, with luck, we'll have an engineer back aboard soon enough."

* * *

The Communications room was finally getting filled, and Shepard could not help but feel some pride at the fact. They were gathering the Galaxy's best and brightest, and few extra-Galactic allies, if that gigantic red-robe was to be believed. Garrus was in the chair to her right, Miranda on her left. The three soldiers stood in a clump near the entrance, Jacob trying, and failing, to initiate a conversation with Zaeed and Sigismund. Mordin was furiously writing down notes, taking quick glances at Isidor, muttering to himself like he usually did. For his part, Isidor stood like a statue, his head the only moving part of his body, constantly swiveling back and forth, as if he was scanning for something. That creepy floating skull of his hovered nearby, one socket empty, the other eye curiously dull, seemingly on standby. Jack was leaning back in her chair, flicking spitballs at Miranda, who did her best to ignore it. Amelie was sitting quietly, looking around with curiosity. As Kasumi finally de-cloaked, announcing her arrival in the room, it was time to begin.

This was Shepard's team. These were the men, women, and aliens that would save the Galaxy. But, for now, they were to save one of Shepard's best friends. Slamming her hand on the table, Jane finally got the attention of her crew.

"I can see that we're finally all here. As you know, we encountered something other than the Collectors on Horizon. Allies. They claim to be from a different future. If you really want to know more, talk to Mordin. I know he's trying to figure out the science behind it all. I don't exactly know what to believe myself, but they're willing to help. That's all that matters. Our three new crewmembers are sent as representatives of these new arrivals, these 'Imperials'. Sigismund, Isidor-7, and Amelie, meet your new team."

"After Horizon, I've also been given some dossiers by the Illusive Man. One on Tali'Zorah Vas Neema. She's been sent on a mission to Haestrom, deep in Geth space. Joker's taking us there now. We don't know much else. Sigismund, Isidor, and Garrus, you're with me. EDI will coordinate from above. While we're working on this, I need someone to keep an eye on the news. The Imperials might be revealing themselves soon, and I'd like to know what happens. Miranda? You're on it. I'll meet the team in the Hangar bay in fifteen. The rest of you, take some time for yourselves."

Shepard let out a breathe she did not know she was holding, the crew filing away. She hated speaking to a group like that. It always came off as so awkward. Garrus stayed behind, the rest of the crew leaving the two in silence.

"Shepard? Are you sure taking along these Imperials is the right idea? There's only so much I can do if they can't pull their weight."

"Thanks for the concern Garrus, but I'm sure they'll do fine. I fought with them on Horizon. They're competent."

"If you say so, Commander. Just remember, I'll be there to watch your back. And Tali's, once we find her."

"Looking forward to seeing her again?"

"Of course, she's a very proficient engineer, and a bonus to the crew. Plus, with all these changes, it wouldn't hurt to see some old faces. See you in the bay, Shepard."

"See you later, Garrus."

* * *

"Shepard, our Data indicates that Tali is somewhere in these ruins. There is considerable Geth activity, and an environmental hazard. Solar output has overwhelmed Haestrom's protective magentosphere. Exposure to direct sunlight will damage your shields."

The Kodiak Shuttle touched down in a shaded area, the crew deploying immediately. Sigismund was equipped much the same as he had been on Horizon: that strange sword, and his oddly effective pistol. Isidor had seen fit to bring a gigantic rifle, almost six feet in length. Like most of the Imperial's equipment, it was a strange mix of parts that should belong in a museum, and technology beyond this Galaxy's comprehension. He had claimed it would help against armored foes, though Shepard felt that it may be a little more than they needed. Garrus brought his Viper sniper rifle, the same he had fought with last time the SPECTRE knew him. Why change what worked?

Jane was the first into the sunlight. Alerts started going off as her shields were depleted, as she sprinted into the shadows, Garrus close behind. The radiation didn't seem to bother the two Imperials, though one of the odd machines attached to the red-robe began to emit soft chimes, stopping only in the shade. The robotic voice of the cyborg began to speak, reaching down to fiddle with it for a moment.

"My Rad-censer. Though my robes are enough to protect me from this foul planet's sun, the censer will still warn me of radiation levels. The Guardsman's coat is similarly treated: we will survive."

A nod was all the response the red-robe received, as the group approached the entrance to the ruins. The gate was shut, the gatehouse damaged by battle. The gatehouse door opened easily, triggering a broadcast and revealing a dead quarian.

"Emergency Log entry: the Geth are here. I've stayed to buy the others time. Anyone who gets this, find Tali'Zorah. She and the Data are all that matters. Keelah se'lai."

The switch was pressed, and the gate to the ruins was opened. Her squadmates readied their weapons, as the Commander led them onwards. The quiet, unnerving silence on the abandoned Quarian world was broken only by the sound of heavy footsteps on stone and rubble. Through the gate the group marched, into the ruins. Into the battlefield.

"DROPSHIP INCOMING!"

Shouting the warning, Garrus ducked into cover, along with Sigismund and Shepard. The red-robe deployed his oversized rifle instead, resting it on a crate, moving faster than humanly possible. Before Jane could realize what Isidor was doing, a loud noise was heard, the ancient looking weapon bucking slightly with the shot. As the dropship deployed its cargo, it buckled in on itself, almost folding in two from a shockwave. A massive hole had been punched in the side, the ship spinning out of control, crashing nearby. The responding fire of the deployed Geth covered Isidor's firing position, the red-robe ducking under the crate, but not before catching several shots in his armor. The already scarred and pitted armor took these shots on in stride, the robes gaining a few more holes from wide shots.

That antique, wooden rifle was an anti-tank weapon. Given how that Sigismund wielded a sword that could cut through shields like butter, the redheaded SPECTRE was hardly surprised anymore.

Jane was already hopping her cover during the Geth response, dashing to another set of cover, taking as many opportune shots as she could. While none of her shots destroyed the alien A.I, each controlled burst wore out a different Trooper's shields. Like a well-oiled machine, Garrus followed up, his sniper rifle picking off the depleted Geth. This was nothing new to the two. They had been allies against Saren, and with Garrus by her side again, it was just like old times.

The skull-masked Sigismund crouched and sprinted from crate to crate, his death-ray of a pistol barking out suppressing fire. Apparently, the Imperial version of 'suppressing fire' meant burning fist-sized holes into whatever the laser hit, but again, there was no kill like overkill. As she reloaded, Jane watched the soldier take cover behind a tall concrete barrier, a Geth trooper stalking on the other side. His sword glowing with a baleful blue light, Sigismund plunged it straight through the barrier, bisecting the Geth behind.

Isidor rushed forward with blinding speed, leaving his rifle strapped across his back. Shepard watched as his augmented legs flexed, springing the red-robe in a jump over half the field, crushing a Geth's head with his claw-like feet. As he landed, she pulled her trigger, hosing down the remaining 'bots with her Vindicator.

It had been over quickly. Entirely too quickly for her liking. The rocket troopers had not even had a chance to send off their shots, the regular troopers' remains spread out across the ruins. As Jane strode down to the larger area, she saw Isidor systematically tearing each Geth part by part, the metal skeletons bending, breaking under his robotic arms.

The normally emotionless cyborg was almost in a frenzy, blue biotic eyes flashing with hatred. As Shepard approached, she could hear a repeated chant.

"destroy destroy destroydestroyde.-.-.-.-.-.-...-.-.-"

The chant devolved into random bursts of static from his speaker-like mouth, Isidor moving from body to body, ripping them down to their base components. Garrus approached beside her, glancing at the nearby soldier.

"Does he always act this way?"

Sigismund shrugged, watching with disinterest.

"The two greatest sins one can commit in his religion are being an A.I. and being made by xenos. He's probably been itching to do this since we got off the dropship."

Shepard stored the medi-gel she had found, the red-robe stopping almost immediately once the destroyed Geth had been rendered into nothing more than a pile of small, twisted bits of metal. Rising from his hunched over position, Isidor unslung his rifle, looking to her.

"Are we to proceed?"

"Yes. And I don't care how much you hate those things, we have move quickly if we're to save Tali. No more of… this."

The blue lenses on the red-robed flashed once, before dimming to their usual luminance. She wasn't sure how to guess the emotions of a cyborg with metal plate for a face, but Jane would have guessed this killing machine was disappointed.

Whether he was or was not did not change the mission, and Shepard gestured the group onwards. As they explored the area, she managed to find some valuable research and salvage, sending the information up to the Normandy. Soon, they came across several Quarian corpses, the stench of death only made worse by the world's oppressive heat. An abandoned radio was broadcasting demands for help, as Jane approached it.

"Break-break-break. OP-1, this is Squad Leader Kal'Reegar, do you copy? The Geth sent a dropship to OP-2. Tali'Zorah's secure, but we need backup. We're bunkered up here, can you send support? OP-1, this is Squad Leader Kal'Reegar, come in, over!"

"This is Commander Shepard of the Normandy. Can we provide assistance?"

"Patch your radio into channel 617 Theta. We were on a stealth mission. High risk. We found what we were after but the Geth found us. They've got us pinned down. Can't get to our ship, can't transmit data through the solar radiation."

"What's the status of your team? How many of you are left?"

"We were a small squad, dozen marines, plus the science team. We're down to half-strength now. Made those synthetic bastards pay for it though."

"What brought you this deep into Geth-controlled space?"

"You're asking the wrong person Shepard. I just point and shoot"

Behind her, she could hear Sigismund snort quietly in his mask.

"Something about the sun. It's going bad faster than it should. Some sort of energy problem."

"Any idea where the Geth came from?"

"One of their patrol ships found us. Dropships started rained down Geth on our heads before we could get off-world. System's under Geth control. We knew they made planetary sweeps periodically. We'd hoped going low-emissions would hide us."

"Do we have to worry about the Geth sending in reinforcements?"

"I don't think so. Their patrol ship hasn't lifted off again, and the radiation blocks all off-world communication."

"How are you holding up? We can be there in a few minutes."

"Take it slow and careful. Direct sunlight fries your shields all to hell. We're bunkered down at base camp across the valley. I left Tali'Zorah at a secure shelter, then doubled back to hold the chokepoint. Getting Tali out safely is our top priority. If you can extract her, we'll keep them off you."

"You're going to throw your life away for research?"

"Negative. I'm going to give my life for the Migrant Fleet. All the difference in the world. I'm no tech-expert Shepard. I'm a marine. They tell me to shoot, I shoot. They said to protect Tali and the data. If you get them out safe, I've done my job."

Again, Jane heard Sigismund behind her, muttering to himself: "Admirable, for an alien." Garrus's response came in just as loud and clear: "I'm standing right here, you know."

"You've got confirmation that the Geth haven't reached Tali yet?"

"Affirmative. Left my best men with her. When you get here, you can talk to her on the comm. Every marine on this rock is sworn to protect Tali'Zorah. Long as one of us is still drawing air, she'll be safe."

"Hold position. We'll hit their back ranks."

"Wait! Watch your ass, we've got a dropship coming in!"

Isidor once again unslung his rifle with blinding speed, snapping off a shot at the incoming dropship. The anti-tank round, made for the 41st millienium, not for the 3rd, tore a gigantic hole through the Geth construct. The impact forced the ship off-course, crashing it against the ground before the bunker, Geth pouring from inside. It was time for battle, yet again.

Garrus set up position on the ledge, his sniper instincts taking over. Shepard carefully, but quickly, made her way from pillar to pillar, crate to crate. Kal'Reegar came in again, his voice crackling through the radio.

"What the hell was that? We're getting pressed back in here. Hurry!"

A look to her side, and Shepard saw Sigismund approaching with her, the sounds of combat echoing from the quarian held bunker. He moved faster than her, seemingly not caring if he was shot at, or if he was hit. Thankfully, his armor held against the scattered Geth rounds thrown his way, the grey carapace shrugging them off. His sword activated, glowing with its soft blue light, Sigismund charged ahead, ignoring Shepard's cry of surprise.

"GARRUS! Cover him! What is he doing?"

She popped out of her cover, spraying down covering fire, as the man charged forward. She saw the object of his attack: A Geth Prime. The twelve foot monstrosity emerged from the downed dropship, turning it's gigantic frame towards the running mad man. His sword blade flashed, embedded in the chest of the robot, Sigismund's feet propped against it. With an upward pull, the sword cut through the chest, through the head, the Prime falling back. Sparks flew from the destroyed Geth, as the three nearby troopers turned, targeting this new threat. Two of their heads exploded in scrap and sparks, the third's chest shredded by the full auto of Shepard's rifle, as she attempted to yank him back to cover. The two crouched behind the shell of the Prime, chests heaving.

"What the hell was that? I need you _alive_ , Sigismund."

"And you needed that construct dead. I've been in combat longer than I've been at rest, Shepard. I can handle myself."

Her angry response was cut off by a cloaked Geth Hunter's head exploding into shrapnel nearby, a shot by Garrus's overwatch

"We're not done with this, Sigismund."

The soldier nodded, before jumping back into the fray, Geth still pouring in from around her. She did not have time to talk down the near-suicidal soldier, having to fend for her own life as Jane retreated to better cover. Garrus's voice sounded in her ear.

"I can't believe he used a damn sword. Who does that?"

"Not helping, Garrus."

"Sorry, Commander."

Another explosion was heard, the red-robe's over powered rifle firing into a stone pillar. With a crack, it broke, the length crashing down, obliterating the nearby Geth beneath its weight. As Shepard opened fire once again, she heard her rifle-fire supplemented by others. Ducking back behind her crate, Jane saw the surviving Quarian marines advancing, gaining ground beside her. She was glad for the reinforcement. Despite Isidor's best efforts, much of the Geth had survived the landing, and the ruins were now crawling with them. Hunters snuck around, only to be shot down by either Garrus or Isidor, the two snipers watching over the infantry below. Sigismund was an army of his own, his sword rising and falling, slicing through whatever it hit. Kal'Reegar's voice crackled in her ear once again, the other marines falling in beside Shepard.

"I'm cut off, alone back here! They're coming in through the side, I've got to fall back!"

After the frantic shouts of the Quarian, the familiar robotic tones of EDI filtered through.

"Shepard. I have scanned the area and located two demolition charges, should you wish to use them."

"Put it on my radar"

"Done. Both sets of charges are marked out for your use."

"Marines. It's good to see you."

The one in the forefront responded, his voice surprisingly young.

"It's better to see you, Shepard. We will do what we can. For the Fleet!"

This cry was met by another, roared out from nearby.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

The horde of Geth was thick, dozens of the metal monstrosities firing shots from every side. As the marines and Shepard rounded a corner, they saw Sigismund. The soldier was surrounded on all sides by twisted metal corpses, each hacked or blasted apart. His armor was burned and pitted, though it had held against the Geth attacks. A Quarian behind her muttered a curse in surprise at the sight, and Jane could not help but agree. What kind of soldier charges in suicidally, and lives to tell about it? More importantly, what kind of modern soldier fights with a _sword_?

A shot from Garrus destroyed a nearby Hunter, it's body decloaking and falling, Sigismund spinning about from the noise. She could hear him panting from the effort, pained breaths coming out from his gasmask's respirator.

"Shepard."

"Sigismund."

"Are you alright?"

"Scrapes and bruises. Who are these xenos?"

"Our _allies_ are the Quarians that were guarding Tali."

Shepard put a slight emphasis on the word. She hated the xenophobia of Cerberus, and it was more than a little disturbing to see these Imperials following the same ideas.

"Our... ' _allies_ '. Are the xenos. The aliens are our allies."

Sigismund looked more than a little confused. He stood there, switching his gaze from Shepard to the marines, then back again. Raising his sword arm up, as if to gesture to something, he let it fall again.

"As you wish, Commander. What's the plan?"

"The Geth are swarming, but with those demo charges, we could clear this area quickly. Sigismund, you're with me. Let's get this over with."

If the gasmasked soldier had any complaint, he did not voice it. The seven cut their way through the Geth, easily reaching the first charge. Tali had left a journal, detailing her worries about the sun's radiation. While Jane was not one for science, the Quarian engineer seemed troubled by the information. Perhaps this mission was more important than she had believed. Whatever the case, the demolition charge seemed to do it's job, clearing a large area in the Geth forces, the scattered fire from the marines, Sigismund's pistol, and Garrus cleaning up the rest.

The squad regrouped at the destroyed dropship, Isidor bounding from rubble to wreckage, after everyone else. Shepard did not know what the red-robe had been doing, but given his effectiveness so far, she was willing to let his disappearance during last part of the battle pass. After all, he had shot down two of the dropships so far. That anti-tank rifle of his was stupidly over powered.

In silence, the group passed through to the building, several dead Quarians lying about the froom, and many more destroyed Geth surrounding them. Kal'Reegar and the other marines had given a good account of themselves, and thanks to her new allies, some still lived.

"Tali'Zorah to basecamp. Come in basecamp. Hello! Is anyone there?"

"Tali, it's Shepard. A few of the marines survived, but I'm sorry. Most are dead. The others must have fallen back."

"We knew this mission was high-risk. Damn it. And what are you doing here, Shepard? We're in the middle of Geth space!"

"I was in the neighborhood. Thought you might need a hand. Brought an old friend as well."

"Thanks for coming Shepard. It means a lot to hear your voice."

Tali paused, her image flickering on the viewer. Sounds of gunfire, explosions, and shifting rubble could be heard through the link. The Quarian seemed to be distracted by the noises, indistinct voices crackling along with the static. She turned back to Shepard, sounding a bit more worried by the moment.

"Kal'Reegar and the surviving marines got me into the observatory. From where you are, it's through the door and across the field. I got the data I needed, and I'm safe for now, but I've got a lot of Geth outside."

"Would it help if I brought in the Normandy?"

"Doubtful. These buildings are centuries old. If you bring down heavy fire, this whole place could collapse on us."

"Is anyone else still with you? Or are you alone out there?"

"Reegar had the marines cover me when I ran for the observatory. I think I can still hear them firing outside."

"It looks like somebody sealed the door against the Geth, and the console is damaged. Can you get it open on your end?"

"Let me see… Yes, I can do it. Here. Should be unlocked now. Be careful Shepard… And please, do what you can to keep Reegar alive."

The holo cut out. Motioning the marines and her squad forward, Jane lead her rag-tag team on. An alarmed cry from one of the Quarians was cut short, as he was shot by the Geth recon drones hiding behind the door. His comrade dragged the wounded marine behind cover, as Shepard began, once again, to fight the Geth.

The quick, reactive fire from the Quarian marines, Sigismund, and Jane herself destroyed the recon drones, the Geth constructions falling to the ground in clashes of sparks. The two snipers began to unload and check their weapons, the others reloading and preparing for the inevitable assault.

"Sigismund! Focus on the big ones. The marines and I can take out the infantry. Garrus, I need you on overwatch. Make sure nothing touches us. Isidor? The skies are yours. No more Geth need to land here. Let's go."

Moving from cover to cover, supported by covering fire, Shepard made her way forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sigismund charging onwards, burning holes in everything he aimed at. Thankfully, this wave of Geth reinforcements seemed to be mostly troopers, the Quarians making short work of them. Thudding, clanking footsteps announced the presence of a Prime, its rifle primed for a shot. A shot that it would never take. It staggered, Garrus's rifle fire drawing the attention of the Geth, before it toppled forward, legless. Sigismund stood behind it, striding forward to decapitate the fallen robot.

The second Prime never got a chance to fire, its synthetic body ripped apart by Isidor's rifle. More drone fire tore around her position, forcing Jane to duck back into cover, away from the fight. The wounded Quarian from earlier seemed to be alright, his suit self-sealing the best it could. The others were a competent bunch, snap-firing from cover, taking down Geth by Geth. Nowhere near the level the SPECTRE usually had on her team, but competent.

A few minutes later, and rubble, ruin, and shipping container covered field was empty of opponents, and full of broken metal. The wounded marine was helped to his feet, and the group progressed onwards, deeper into the Quarian ruins.

Rumblings sounded as the door before them opened. The ground itself shook slightly, a Geth Collosus slowly turning around at the noise. A panicked cry of "GET DOWN" later, and the group was huddling behind cover. Two of the marines had been hit, their suffering cut short by the strength of the blast. Rushing from column to column, cover to cover, the rag-tag squadron reached the ramp below. Hiding behind the stone wall, firing when he had the chance, was another of the Quarian marines.

"Over here! Get to cover! Squad Leader Kal'Reegar, Migrant fleet marines. We talked on the radio before the dropship arrived. I suppose I have you,and whoever these people are, to thank for saving my marines? Still got no idea why you're here, but this ain't the time to be picky."

An explosion rocked the wall behind them, sending dust and bits of stone flying about. Miscellaneous rifle fire peppered their cover, but thankfully, no-one was hurt.

"Tali's inside over there. The Geth killed the marines with me, and they're trying to get to her. Best I've been able to do is draw their attention."

"Are you sure she's still alive?"

"The observatory's reinforced. Even the Geth will need time to get through it. And it's hard to hack a door when someone's firing rockets at you. The Geth are near platoon strength, but the colossus is the worst part. It's got a repair protocol. Huddles up and fixes itself. I can't get a clear shot when it's down like that. I tried to move in closer, and one of the bastards punched a shot clean through my suit."

"How bad's the suit damage?"

"Combat seals clamped down to isolate contamination, and I'm swimming in antibiotics. The Geth might get me, but I'm not going to die from an infection in the middle of a battle. That's just insulting."

"Any ideas on how to deal with the Colossus?"

"Standard protocol on armature-class units is to sabotage the shields and whittle it down. Y'know, kill it with bug-bites. But the repair protocol blows that plan to hell. You try to wear it down, it just huddles up and fixes itself. So whatever we have do has to scrap that bastard fast. Probably means getting up close, past that cover."

"Understood. Isidor, you need to get a clean shot on that Colossus. Reegar, stay here. You've done enough, you don't need to throw your life away."

"I've still got a launcher the sun hasn't fried yet. Wasn't asking your permission. My job is to keep Tali safe. I can distract it and maybe kill its shields, while you go down to finish it off."

The Quarian stood up, aiming his missile launcher at the Geth. Almost immediately, Shepard stood up with him, pushing him back into the wall, back into cover.

"We have enough people at the moment! I can't let you just take one for the team. Stand down!"

"I'm not going to stand here while you run into enemy fire! They killed half my squad!"

"And the other half needs you alive! If you want to honor your dead, watch my back! I need you here in case they bring reinforcements."

Kal'Reegar glanced at his surviving squad members, each one of them looking to him for leadership. Each one of them ready to follow his commands. Each one of them willing to die for him, and for the mission. With a sigh, he turned back to Shepard

"Alright Shepard, we'll do it your way. Hit them for me. Keelah se'lai."

With that, battle was joined. The remaining Quarian marines laid down covering fire, Shepard and her squad continuing down the staircase. Once back in cover, Jane caught Isidor's attention. Pointing to the left, towards the sniper nest, she gestured him onwards. His rifle should be able to heavily damage the Colossus, if not take it all together. The only problem was providing the red-robe enough cover for him to take the shot. His rifle was huge, and though Isidor's reaction times were inhuman, the sheer volume of fire from the Geth infantry below would take its toll. The troopers and Primes must be distracted. Garrus set up his rifle, ready to provide overwatch. With a nod to Sigismund, Shepard prepared to charge down. The Quarian marines, while well-trained, simply were not equipped to face this many Geth, or the Colossus. They stayed up on the top of the staircase, periodically firing downwards, keeping the attention of Shepard's squad, and off of the bounding Isidor.

The red-robe was leaping forward, from cover to cover, his limbs a blur. Within moments, he reached the left side of the field, taking refuge in the sniper's nest. The Colossus barely took notice of him, preferring to fire down onto Shepard's position. The concrete barrier was barely holding against the fire, shuddering with each shot. To make matters worse, the Colossus was out of sight from Isidor's rifle. They had to lure it forward.

Sigismund and Shepard charged down to the center field, Garrus picking off any Geth that came to close. The veteran's pistol barked with each shot, burning the air before it, vaporizing a fist sized hole wherever it hit. While only a few shots actually managed to make their mark, the sheer volume of fire forced the nearby Geth to duck into cover. However, the Prime that was leading the group did not take cover, simply taking the shots, marching onwards. The scorching holes in it's body were ignored, the 13 foot monstrosity shrugging them off. Return fire from the Prime hit Sigismund, the impact tossing him to the side, though he seemed not to be badly hurt. Shepard dived behind the barrier next to him, helping the soldier back to his feet. A simple nod was all the thanks she received. Sniper fire from Garrus distracted the Prime, the massive Geth turning to the new threat, preparing to return fire. It never got the chance.

Isidor's rifle hit it, the round passing through the Geth's center, igniting the circuitry, flames bursting in the man-sized hole. The flaming Geth paused, before it fell over, clanging against the ground.

There was no time to celebrate. The troopers nearby had emerged from cover, peppering Sigismund and Jane's position with fire. A few bursts from her assault rifle, punctuated by the sound of burning air from Sigismund's pistol, and the Geth lay dead.

Surprisingly, the battle was going fairly well. The Quarian marines stayed by their wounded commander, keeping the Geth on the back foot. Garrus's sniper fire decimated the trooper's ranks, and Isidor's ridiculous rifle continued its campaign of vengeance against the various Geth Elites. Sigismund and her had cut a swathe through the main field, though her shields were now stripped by the sun. Despite all that, there was a nagging sense of something she forgot.

The ground shook, and a loud boom was heard, tossing the commander like a ragdoll. The Colossus.

Shepard felt a trickle of blood running down her face, as she lay on the ground. She had been tossed against a wall, the concrete behind her cracked with the force of impact. Jane could still feel her legs, which was always a good sign, but all she could hear was a high-pitched whine, the world looking blurry and out of focus. The sky slowly came into focus, Jane turning herself over, getting on her hands and knees. She blinked, not sure if what she was seeing was real.

Sigismund stood alone on the field. One arm was bent at an odd angle, the pistol discarded on the ground. In his other hand, his sword crackled, lighting running up the blade. His helmet had been knocked free, only his mask remaining. She could hear him yelling.

"FACE ME! FACE ME, YOU XENOS SAVAGE! FACE ME, AND LET THE EMPEROR DECIDE MY FATE"

The Colossus turned its attention away from her, the ground shaking as it moved. It almost seemed curious, wondering how such a small, insignificant creature could challenge it. Not bothering to charge up its main weapon, the Colossus brought its huge foot down, intent on squashing the soldier like a bug. Rolling to the side, he dodged, slicing off a foot. With what sounded like a roar, the Colossus stumbled forwards.

Right into Isidor's line of fire.

A boom sounded. The Colossus's head was gone, shrapnel raining down. Still, it stood upright, teetering on it's three feet. A second boom, and its body folded inwards from the impact. The Colossus fell, crushing Geth reinforcements with its body. A cheer went up from the Quarians assembled on the staircase, as Shepard felt herself be helped up by Garrus.

"Shepard. Shepard, can you hear me?"

Jane nodded, taking to her feet, brushing the Turian off.

"I'm fine Garrus, I'm fine. Let's finish this."

With the Colossus destroyed, and the majority of the Geth's elite units joining it, the battle was over quickly. The troopers were no match for Garrus and Shepard, the two forcing their way to where Sigismund was seen last. They found him sitting, back against a barrier, useless arm held to his chest. His helmet and pistol lay next to him, quick, pained breaths coming from the mask's filter.

"Shepard. Xenos. You survived."

It was a simple statement, but Jane thought she could hear surprise in his voice, and perhaps, a bit of admiration. She helped the trench-coated soldier to his feet, his sword powering off and sliding into his scabbard. The Quarian marines descended from the ramp, picking off the damaged Geth survivors one by one, Kal'Reegar with them. Isidor appeared nearby, as silent and strange as he always was. Shepard and her squad made their way towards the locked door, entering into Tali's hideout.

The door hissed open, Tali turning around at the sound.

"Thank you, Shepard. If it were not for you, I would never have made it out of this room. This whole mission has been a disaster. I wish I'd joined you on _Freedom's Progress_ , but I couldn't let anyone take my place on something this risky."

"A lot of Quarians lost their lives here. Was it worth it?"

"I don't know Shepard. It wasn't my call. The Admiralty board believe the information was worth sacrificing all our lives for. I have to believe that they know what's best."

"I didn't ask what some Admiral thought. I asked what _you_ thought."

"A lot of people died here. Some were my friends. All of them were good at their jobs. That damn data better be worth it. The price was too high."

"What can you tell me about your research here?"

"Haestrom's sun is destabilizing. Back when it was a Quarian colony, it was a normal star. It shouldn't change that quickly"

"Any idea what's causing it?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say it was Dark Energy affecting the interior of the star. The effect is similar to when stars blow off mass to enter a red giant phase, but Haestrom's sun is far too young for this to be natural."

"Whatever the reason, I'm glad I could help. Once you deliver that data, I could use you on the Normandy."

"I promised to see this mission through. I did. I can leave with you and send the data to the Fleet. And if the admirals have a problem with it, they can go to hell. I just watched the rest of my team die."

Kal'Reegar came limping in, supported by one of the marines. There were only 4 left, including Reegar, but they had survived.

"Maybe not the whole rest of your team, Ma'am."

Shepard could swear the old marine was grinning beneath that mask.

"Reegar! You made it! And your squad as well!"

"Your old captain's as good as you said. Plus, his new friends aren't bad either. Damn colossus never stood a chance."

"If need be, the Normandy can get you out of here, Reegar."

"The Geth didn't damage our ship. Long as we get out of here before reinforcements show up, we'll be fine."

"Actually, I won't be going with you, Reegar. I'm joining Commander Shepard."

"I'll pass the data onto the Admiralty board and let them know what happened. She's all yours now, Shepard. Keep her safe."

And with that, the mission was complete.

* * *

Shepard waited in the Communications room with Jacob and Isidor, waiting for Tali. Sigismund had gone down to the hanger almost immediately after they had arrived back on the ship, seemingly upset about something. She would have to talk to him after this debriefing was over, thank him for saving her back there.

As Tali entered, Jacob was the first to speak.

"Cerberus saw footage of you in action, Tali'Zorah. We're looking forward to having you on this team. Your engineering expertise will really benefit the mission."

"Query: We are having this xenos work on our ship and equipment? That is complete tech-heresy. It would profane the holy Machine Spirit! It would be inexcusable!"

"I don't know who either of you are, but Cerberus threatened the security of the Migrant Fleet. Don't make nice"

"That's why you're here Tali. I need people who aren't Cerberus. People I can trust."

"You willingly consort with a xenos heretek, and trust her over your fellow humans?"

Jacob stretched his arm out, holding Isidor back, the red-robe's blue lenses glowing brightly in anger.

"Stand _down_ , Isidor. I wasn't… We weren't part of what happened to the Migrant Fleet-"

" _Unfortunately._ "

"- **But** I understand your distrust. I hope we'll get past that as we work together."

"You might. I refuse to work with a heretek, especially one whose race is responsible for thousands of Abominable Intelligences. "

"Will you shut up? It is in Cerberus's best interests to work with the Quarians, and Tali'Zorah."

"I am not of Cerberus, meatbag. I am of Mars, and I will not allow my sacred tech to be profaned. Unless the Arch-Magos commands me to, I will not operate in the same room as a _**heretek**_."

The last word dripping with hate, Isidor marched out of the room, Jacob looking helplessly after him. Tali turned back to Shepard, spreading her arms wide, as if the exchange had just proved her point.

"I assumed you were undercover, Shepard. Maybe even planning to blow Cerberus up. If that's the case, I'll lone you a grenade. Otherwise, I'm here for you. Not for them."

"I know Tali, I know. If it helps, check out the Normandy while you're here. We've gotten a few upgrades."

Sighing, Jacob gestured weakly after Isidor, before letting his arm slap uselessly by his side. Looking to the Quarian, he began to pull something up on his Omni-tool.

"I'll get Tali'Zorah the necessary security clearance to access our systems."

"Please do. I can't be part of your team if I don't know how the ship works. Just remember, Shepard. Cerberus wasn't our friend when we went up against Saren. I'll be engineering."

"Don't forget to introduce yourself to EDI, the ship's new artificial intelligence."

Tali glanced over her shoulder at Jacob, before turning away without a response. The Cerberus officer opened his mouth as if to offer further advice, before closing it, letting out another sigh. Jane followed Tali out, leaving the soldier in the Communications Room, heading down to the Hanger. It was time to talk to Sigismund.

* * *

She found the Imperial in the bay by noise alone. The man had managed to find a training dummy, and was in the process of beating on it with his de-powered sword. His shirt was soaked with sweat, the sword tied to his wrist with a short length of chain. The trenchcoat and mask were tossed in a corner, as Sigismund continued to slam his sword into the dummy, taking out chunks with each hit. It was the first time Shepard had seen him without his gloves, and she was a little disconcerted at the sight of Imperial prosthetics. Metal climbed up his arm, stopping just before the elbow. An iron hand held the sword, the chain connected to his wrist, leading the hilt. His scarred muscles bulged, short grunts exhaled with every movement. The Imperial did not notice Shepard, completely focused on his task, his sword weaving back and forth, flickering like a snake's tongue. With a strangled yell, the blade was plunged into the dummy's chest, impaling it on the metal blade. Panting, Sigismund looked up, noticing Jane for the first time.

Pulling the sword free, he rested it on the ground, giving a nod of acknowledgement.

"Commander."

"Sigismund. Impressive display."

"If you say so."

"Sigismund, I have to talk to you. You've made it clear you don't like aliens, and Isidor seems to share your opinion."

Shepard sat down on a crate next to the wall, crossing her legs. She glanced at her omnitool, pulling up a picture of her and Liara. The only picture she had left of the two of them. She needed her. She missed her. With a sigh, Jane looked back up at Sigismund.

"Garrus and Tali are old friends, and I trust them a hell of a lot more than I trust you. We're going to be encountering hundreds of more non-humans throughout this mission, and I can't let you insult them all. I don't know if this sort of hate was tolerated before, but on my ship, I will not allow it. "

"Do you know why I hate the aliens? Why Isidor-7 despises them? It's not because we believe that they're inferior. It's not because your two xenos friends have made particular slights against me or my beliefs."

Sigismund turned away, unchaining his sword from his metal wrist, reverently wiping the blade with a cloth. He refused eye contact with her, staring intently at his work, his voice growing harder and bitter.

"We hate them because they hate us. We hate them because it is in our nature to hate. The first thing every Imperial child is taught is that it is Mankind's destiny to rule the stars. The second is that our destiny is to rule them alone. I hate xenos for dissecting my squad like animals. I hate the xenos for torturing me until I begged for death. I hate them for cutting off half my arm. I hate them for forcing me to kill my friend."

Sigismund's voice broke. He was still cleaning the already shining blade, his eyes glued to his hands, his remaining knuckles white from gripping the handle.

"I hate the alien. You are my Commander. Orders issued are to be obeyed. I tolerate the xenos you have aboard simply because you wish me to."

Standing up, Sigismund took his coat and mask, leaving Shepard in silence.

* * *

 **AN: It's back! So, sorry about not updating in so long. I was on a vacation and didn't have the best internet, plus this chapter is longer than most. Hopefully that makes up for the last one's shortness. Next Chapter will focus on Rogue Trader Pollux, the Mysterious Magos, and Colonel Miriel meeting the Council. Lots of fun planned for that one. There wasn't to much of Amelie in this chapter, not because I didn't want to include her, but because a Telepath can only do so much against the non-psykic, non-biological Geth. She's going to be the focus of the next Shepard and Co chapter.**

 **Also: In case you folks were wondering: Isidor's weapon that he uses in this is a Transuanic Arquebus, and Sigismund's list of xenos he hates are, in order, Dark Eldar, Tyranids, and Genestealers.**

 **Now, on to your reviews!**

 **Abbadon953: Thanks! Culture clash will also be the main point of the next chapter, so stay tuned! And you are right about the flagships. I'd forgotten just how big the Imperator Somnius was.**

 **Manwithaplan112: The original plan was to have Sigismund be from Catachan, actually! And as much as I love the Death Korps, they do get a lot of focus on this website, and the Steel Legion, despite being absolutely amazing soldiers, barely have any. However, you will see some Ogryn, maybe even in the next chapter!**

 **RabidArmenian: Well, although Isidor probably is missing some parts, stuff like that has never stopped Shepard before... :p. On a more serious note, if you were wondering, Shepard romanced Liara for this story. As for Andromeda, I'm probably going to use either a Great Crusade era fleet, or perhaps one of the Primarchs(Dorn? Russ? Not sure yet.) Anyways, it is a bit to early for that, we have plenty to go for this story.**

 **timgr: Thank you! And I agree, it can just get boring to write it sometimes. But, it is necessary for the plot, so don't worry about not getting those kinds of chapters.**

 **edboy4026: Space Marines will definitely be in Andromeda when I get around to it. But, for the now, they won't be in this one. I love 'em, but for the size of the Imperium compared to how many Space Marines there are, the Astartes get involved in way to much.**

 **Carre: Actually, that book is a canon book in the 40k universe, referenced in "The Carrion Throne." Apparently, Krieg counted as a Paradise world, once.**

 **grey: Well, he's not that angry that they were created, Isidor's more angry that they exist. Plus, Skitarri are made to be more aggressive, so his anger is not really as controlled as a normal person's might.**

 **Mira: Thank you so much! I try my best to proof-read, but I do miss a bit. If you see more errors like that, PM me and I'll try to fix them up. As for why Amelie didn't get a scene with Chakwas, well, that was because she's fairly normal. She doesn't have PTSD and hundreds of scars like Sigismund, and she's not a horrific cyborg like Isidor. She's just a young woman with some small implants, which are kinda odd, but no where near as strange as the others.**

 **blackcomet1124: Thanks! Amelie is a romantic, but I don't know if she'd go as far as a xenos. Who knows, though**

 **And as for everyone else, thanks for the support!**


	8. Chapter 8: The Imperial Guard

The Command Tent was surrounded by the noise of five regiments going about their daily schedules. Inside, the soft tinkle of a glass of recaff being poured sounded deafening.

The round table in the center of the tent was occupied by two people. On one side, sat Colonel Miriel, the de-facto commander of Imperial Guard forces in this Galaxy. On the other, Lord Commissar Sun Lee. His worn face showed lines of age, his uniform the scars of experience. His black cap sat before him on one side, his bolt pistol on the other. His fingers steepled, his elbows on the table, Commissar Lee stared into the tent wall. A sigh escaped his lips.

"You do understand almost _Every. Single. Thing._ about this Galaxy is **much** too close to heresy for my comfort. I'm not an Inquisitor. I'm a Commissar. My job is to make sure soldiers obey orders, and do not stray from the Emperor's light. If what you have told me is true, my job has, well, gained some difficulty. A different Galaxy? The past?"

Across from the Commissar, Colonel Miriel sat, her face crossed with lines of worry. Her helmet hung from straps off her chair, her chainsword leaning nearby. The banners of the five regiments were strung up on each side of the tent. Miriel did not have command over the other regiments, but as the surviving highest ranking officer, she remained a voice of authority.

"Commissar, these are new xenos, unclassified by the Inquisition. I do not like it any more than you, but working with these… savages may be necessary. This 'Shepard' claims Mankind is facing a great threat with these 'Collectors'."

"These 'Collectors' are nothing more than poor imitations of the Hrud, without their damned Chrono-sorcery. We lost, what, eleven men to those things? Twelve? Colonel, back on Avenmoore, we lost more than that just trying to dig latrines!"

"Damn Avenmoore, and damn the late Lord General. He deserved that bolt."

"I would reprimand you Miriel, but if I am to be honest, I almost wish I shot him myself."

The Colonel nodded her assent. Avenmoore had been a disaster from beginning to end. Lord General Lambert had made decisions based off of little information to outright falsehoods, his paranoia damning a planet. Colonel Miriel was the only one to survive his poorly constructed battleplans, while the Lord General had died doing what he did best: Retreating.

Groaning, Miriel placed her face in her hands, rubbing her over-tired eyes. The present situation came back to her, and all of the headaches it presented.

"What would you have me do, Lee? We are only ten thousand. Ten thousand! Our allies in the Navy are reduced to some Valkyries, Vultures, and whatever else survived the loss of _Jovian's Fury_. The only true ships we have are the Rogue Traders. Remind me Lee, what is the duty of the Imperial Guard? To shield humanity against the horrors in the dark? To hold the line? To die pointlessly? According to the records we have gained, Collectors are not the only thing that may lurk in this Galaxy. We must reconsider our position."

Miriel tossed a file across the desk to Sun Lee, the latter stopping it with one gloved hand. Slowly, the Commissar gazed through it, a single eyebrow cocking at its contents. He placed it calmly on the table, tapping the cover, looking thoughtful.

"I see. You sent a soldier with Shepard to help combat the Collectors, correct?"

"Sergeant Sigismund."

"Interesting choice. Then we are already doing all we can at the moment against those creatures. Shepard described the war against them as one fought in the shadows. These other threats, these are ones we can, and **must** fight face to face."

"I agree. That's why I've called the Majors to discuss our next objective. Commissar? You've seen the other files. You do understand humanity is not actively hostile with xenos in the Galaxy, and even friendly with some? We may be forced to even ally with these aliens if we want to align ourselves with this Galaxy's humanity. I know it borders on heresy to ask this, but do I have the support of the Commissariat? Despite possibility of xenos allies?"

"If it is a necessity, I will support it. Though some Commissars forget it, it is our job to make sure the Guard serves the Emperor to the fullest of their ability. If that means forcing a temporary alliance with these xenos, so be it. I won't like it, but I'll support it. However, I will take measures to ensure none of the soldiers get too friendly with their non-human allies."

"I would not expect anything less. Just make sure the other members of your organization get the memo. And while we are on the subject of our troopers… how are they? What is the morale situation? Being ripped away from the Imperium and their home, and everything else happening in this strange Galaxy…"

"Honestly, Colonel? Morale is high. These soldiers expected to be thrown into one of the worst battles in the Imperium, after just surviving a meatgrinder of a war. Some do miss their homes, but they're the Guard. They never expected to see 'home' after they signed up. To go from surviving Avenmoore, after fighting against Heretic Astartes, monstrosities they could have never dreamed of, and Daemons themselves, to fighting these Collectors? Morale is incredibly high. I wouldn't worry about it at the moment."

"Well, that's a relief."

A nervous knocking on a tent post alerted the Colonel to her aide, Private Johanna.

"Ma'am? The Majors are here."

"Send them in. And Lee? Thank you. You're welcome to stay, if you want."

"I believe I shall, Colonel. I believe I shall."

One by one, the five majors filed in. Major Kjarten, of the Armored 353rd. Half his face burned off by an exploding Leman Russ, and just as hard-headed as the tank he rode in. Major Frederick, of the 491st Rough Riders. Mustachioed, of noble birth, and a surprisingly good soldier. Major Karl, of the 12th Super-Heavy Company. Short, scarred, and scrappy. Major Julius, of the 529th. He and his men were always the first into battlezone, and often the last to leave. It was he who had recommended Sigismund for the operation, as the Guardsman's superior. And, finally, Major Victoria. Her second-in-command.

The five majors sat at the round table in silence, looking to the Colonel, then to the Lord Commissar. Major Karl cleared his throat. Kjarten began to tap his fingers in an irregular rhythm, eyes fixed on Miriel. Victoria glanced between the Colonel and the Major, a question forming on her lips. Breaking the silence, Miriel spoke, sliding the file forward towards the Majors.

"Pollux's Arch Magos has decrypted much of the information he has obtained. As you know, we are now in a new Galaxy, torn from the Imperium. Some may view this as the end of our duty. It is not. In this file are what I understand to be the major threats to humanity in this strange universe."

Opening the file, the Guardswoman moved the papers into several distinct piles. As she gestured to the first pile, the Majors began to peer downwards at it, trying to read print.

"First on our list is the xenos race known as the 'Batarians'. Slavers. Raiders. Alien scum. They apparently have warred with the Alliance, the Human government of this Galaxy. As expected, they lost. These Batarians do not have particularly advanced technology, but are a non-stop menace to small settlements, constantly engaging in slave raids against undefended colonists."

She moved on to the second pile, Major Julius picking up the Batarian file with interest.

"Next, the Geth. A race of Abominable Intelligences, created by a xenos race. Technology superior to several other races in this Galaxy, but no match for the might of Mars. 'Shepard', the soldier who we aided on the planet of Horizon, has fought with them in the past. Once, these Geth even attacked the Citadel, a concentration of Xenos races under control of a council. Which brings me to the next point.

The Council. A coalition of xenos, who claim to control the Galaxy. Ruled by representatives of three xenos races: the Turians, their military branch, the Salarians, their equivalent to our Mechanicus, and the Asari. Horrific xenos that attempt to seduce other races with their psykic abilities, seeking to force others under their thumb. This Council is not only the most powerful galactic player, but they have forced restrictions on humanity itself, seeking to bend them to their ways.

And finally, the Reapers. Ancient xenos creations, barely known about or understood, and dismissed as fringe theories or mad ravings. From what we know about them, which is, of course, incredibly little, they desire to destroy all life they come across. However, it is believed by most that the last and only Reaper was destroyed in battle against the Council. These Reapers may also be allied with the Geth."

There was a silence after her words, before Major Frederik spoke up.

"That's it?"

A small smile broke out across Colonel Miriel's lips.

"Yes, Major. That's it."

The Major glanced around at the others, spreading his arms wide, before gesturing to the papers set before them all.

"These are the threats that plague Mankind? Ma'am, we are the Imperial Guard. We've faced down the forces of the Archenemy, the traitor sons of the Emperor, and the Greenskin hordes. A few tin cans, pirates, and xenos rabble should not prove any problem. I say we pay this Council a visit. Show them what true humans are made of!"

Karl was next. The Super-Heavy tank commander was a quiet man, and not one that spoke easily. His gravel-filled tones filled the room, turning heads towards the scarred Major.

"These xenos are savages, but, as much as I hate to admit it, we cannot make war at the moment. We require food, we require ammunition, we require supplies. Do you think that Baneblade shells are conjured from the air? We must prepare, and we must rebuild. We have supplies stored for one, maybe two years of warfare. Our first attack must be brutal, it must be swift, and our victory must be total. The enginseers and the Arch-Magos must be given time to construct what manufactorums they can, before we attack again."

Major Julius spoke for the first time, tapping the Batarian file with interest.

"These Batarians would be our best bet. Theses pirates do not seem to be well organized, or coordinated. The Galaxy would not miss them, and others would wonder less at their losses. This file claims they are slavers. Their loss will be our gain."

Victoria's voice broke in, speaking for the Colonel's own regiment.

"You mean, recruit the rescued captives?"

"Exactly. We lost good soldiers on Avenmoore, and we could do with more. I'm sure there's more than enough extra lasguns and uniforms to go around for a few new conscripts."

"From what little information we've found on this 'Cerberus' organization, they may be more than willing to help with scouting and telling us just where these Pirates hide. However, there is something the four of you and the Colonel are forgetting. Transport. We are at the mercy of the Rogue Trader. While I believe he may agree with us, we must be prepared if he does not."

That had been Kjartan, the Leman Russ commander pounding the table with his fist to make his point. The Lord Commissar broke in for the first time, the table quieting as he spoke. It never paid to ignore a Commissar's advice, even if they could not technically issue orders.

"It would be in his best interests to visit this Council. Despite being a patriot, the Lord Pollux is still a Rogue Trader, and will still attempt to seek wealth and fame. Besides, you'd be fooling yourselves if you believed his fleet and our technology would go unnoticed. The people of this Galaxy are far, far behind the Mechanicus in their equipment. We'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"Major Karl's point still stands. We must establish a base. In addition, despite their obvious threat to humanity, we cannot wage open war against this Council. Not yet. I included them in this list to show our enemies, but this 'Systems Alliance' has treaties with the Council. They may attempt to aid them in war. We must gain the confidence of humanity before we make a move. And as tactically sound retreating and rebuilding our strength may sound, we must make our presence known on a Galactic scale if we want to recruit and rebuild."

Finished, Miriel reclined in her chair, looking from commander to commander, waiting for their responses. Frederick spoke again, glancing about at the sullen table.

"Why not both? If we follow through with Julius's idea, we could impress the Alliance even more. Rescue a large batch of captives, bring them back home, maybe recruit a few… We could be hailed as heros."

"It's as a good a plan as any. My tank's will stand behind it."

"Thank you, Frederick, and thank you, Kjarten. Miriel, what say you? Purge the xenos, and rescue some captives?

"If there aren't any objections, I'll go with it. I'll speak to Pollux about it. Perhaps this Cerberus organization has intelligence on a target."

As Mirel went to rise from the table, the Majors sharing an awkward glance between them. Julius spoke again, the other commanders looking to him for leadership.

"Colonel, there's… something else we need to discuss before you go."

The four others nodded their assent, Miriel leaning in slightly, cocking an eyebrow.

"Originally, we had planned on waiting until we reached Armageddon before fixing the leadership problem. But, with the Rift, and this new Galaxy, it can no longer be postponed. We _must_ have leaders for our regiments, after the death of all that command staff on Avenmoore. The other Majors all agree with me. My personal proposal is for the four of us to be promoted to Colonels, to clear up command chains. However, we must be promoted by a superior officer. As you're the highest ranking officer left…"

"I understand. I'll contact Father Hakim, and we'll hold a ceremony tomorrow. Might even give the troopers something to look forward too."

"Arrange for one more promotion, Colonel. The other Majors and I have talked it over, and the five regiments need a representative. And, well, you're the highest ranking officer we have, plus one of the few to actually go to the Schola Progenium for your rank. It's time we had a new General. Just know you have our support."

"I… Thank you. I will not forget it, and I will try to make regiments proud. Dismissed."

* * *

Miriel found the priest near his tent, doing what he loved best. Preaching to the Ogryn contingent. He stood on an unopened ammo crate, his staff in the air, a makeshift Shrine of the Aquila constructed behind him. Abhumans sat cross-legged, listening in rapt attention to the Tallarn native, the priest's fiery voice echoing through the ship's corridors. Their ugly, broad faces bore looks of wonder, an almost child-like look coming across their eyes.

"The Emperor is mighty! The Emperor is strong! The Emperor is all! For Emperor, despite his power, despite his majesty, loved us. He loves you! You, who are not human, yet still manage to give him praise! Every enemy you crush, every crate you lift, every order you obey is music to His divine ears."

Father Hakim strode down the middle of the Ogryns, laying hands on one, patting another on his back, smiling kindly to another. He caught sight of Miriel leaning against a post, a look of recognition appearing.

"You, his servants. You, the abhumans. Let none tell you that you are worthless. Your loyalty is unquestionable! You are some of His greatest servants, both in faith-"

The preacher grasped the bicep of one of the Bone'eads, the others around him laughing in that grumbling voice of theirs.

"And in size! Now, my children, you are dismissed. Remember now, be good to each other, and be bad to the enemy. The Emperor loves you all."

Miriel could have sworn the floor shook as the Ogryns began to file out. As each passed her, they would attempt a salute or a tip of a cap, if they had one. Smiles adorned their big faces, Ogryns joking about the food, and playfully punching each other with enough force to shatter a normal human's chest. Father Hakim made his way to the Colonel, staff tapping the ground with each stride. His red robe brushing against the metal floor, the well-worn cloth fraying at the edges

"Miriel! It's so good to see you!"

"Hello, Father. I see the abhuman auxilia are doing well."

"Quite well. Marvelous, aren't they? Emperor bless'em. I would that all the Guard had their faith. Now, what can the Ecclesiarchy do for you?"

"I need to organize some promotion ceremonies. I know they're not required, but it might remind the men of home. Emperor know we could all use a bit of that. I'll send my aide over later, but that is not why I'm here. Father, how are you and your comrades? I know that being in this new Galaxy, so far from the Astronomicon, it must must be hard."

The Preacher's smile fell ever so slightly. He glanced around, making sure no other were around, leading Miriel into the room. Closing the door, Hakim sat on a crate, gesturing for Miriel to take a nearby seat.

"It's been hard. It feels as if some part of me has been torn away. But I still believe. Even without the throne, I know the Emperor is out there somewhere. The Galaxy is in the past, isn't it? He may still be walking amongst humanity, guiding them, showing them the way. No, I know He is. The Emperor does not require our faith to be strong, Miriel. We praise Him to show thanks for all that He has done for us. Not to empower Him. So, until He reveals Himself, we shall simply go on, holding our services and praying. For the Emperor helps those who help themselves."

"That is good to hear, Hakim. Good to hear. You've always been a good Preacher. Someday soon, you may even have a new audience. Send up a prayer for me, will you Father? I fear we may have some dark days ahead. I'll have my aide come down here to fill you in on the details for the promotions. The Emperor protects."

"The Emperor protects, Miriel. I'll make sure to take care of the preparations, and to light some extra incense for you. Emperor bless you."

With that, Miriel left the preacher to his prayers, heading towards the elevator. It was time to meet with Pollux, and figure out just what in the Warp they were going to do. It was time to lead her soldiers to glory.

* * *

 **AN: Sorry for another short one, but I do want to make sure you guys get to see how the Imperials are reacting to the new Galaxy. This chapter was intended to just be an opening, but, well, it kinda grew out of that. The next chapter will focus on Pollux, the Arch-Magos, and The Illusive Man. The meeting of the Council and the Imperials has been postponed somewhat, but don't worry, it's still coming. Anyways, on to reviews! Also, your reviews do help me, and I do appreciate every one.**

 **BrotherCaptainShepard: Shepard, in this story, is planned to be pretty pro-alien. So, as you guessed, there'll be some conflict over that all.**

 **Artyom-Dreizehn: Thank you! And yeah, as you said, the Imperium is pretty far from what Shepard is used to. The Reapers are an average Saturday in 40k.**

 **ManwithaPlan113: Catachan is cool, but I didn't want to make the Imperial Guard in this story to overpowered. Plus, the Steel Legion doesn't get enough love. Ogryns will be included more as well, but the Guard want to keep a few surprises up their sleeves for the coming battles.**

 **Rhivan: Thanks! And I have to say that it isn't me. GW is responsible for that nod. I do love the Death Korps, but they are a bit overdone on this website, in my opinion. Plus, I wanted the Guard to be at least somewhat relate-able to the Alliance. No more Imperial forces are planned on arriving for this story, but again, that may change. And, without the Inquisition, the Commissariat will probably try and pick up the slack where they can.**

 **RabidArmenian: Vulkan is a good choice! When I get around to that Andromeda fic, which will probably be quite a while from now, I might just include him.**

 **Xeano: Thank you! I was really happy how Sigismund's dialogue turned out there, thanks for noticing. And yes, Arch-Magi with Rogue Traders are a little more lenient. But you have to remember, Isidor isn't a tech-priest. He's a brainwashed, modified, infantryman. He doesn't understand the nuances of the Quest for Knowledge, and he wouldn't bend the rules like an Arch-Magi would. He just follows orders, and if the Arch-Magos approves it, to Isidor, it's alright. And don't worry, I fully intend on finishing this fic completely before moving on to Andromeda.**

 **Commissar Carl: It's a big gun. But, Isidor is a tall guy. Growth hormones and cybernetic enhancement will do that for ya.**

 **And thank you to rest of you all! Sorry if I don't get to all the reviews, but I don't want to clutter up the Author's notes to much. The next chapter will be up in about a week with any hope, and, as always, if you see something wrong, point it out! I try to proofread, but I sometimes miss things.**


	9. Chapter 9: Mechanicus

The sacred Binary Chant echoed through the hallowed engine room, hundreds of tech-priests and thousands of servitors attending to the machinery. The Arch-Magos sat on its command chair, its many mechandites snaking their way from robe to machine. It was impossible to tell where man ended and metal began, the distinction between the two becoming moot centuries ago. The steel and stone wall behind him was filled with ports, keyboards, buttons, screens, and the unidentifiable grime that found its way into all ships of the Imperium. Above it all sat a great shrine to the Omnissiah, the grinning machine and bone skull gazing down upon the Arch-Magos and the workers. Through the skies inside the Engine-Cathedral flew servo-skulls and cherubs, assisting tech-priests in their duties, carrying tomes of maintenance and repair. Oily lamps of holy incense burned, tech-priests striding down catwalks, blessing the engines, reciting prayers to the Machine God. Light came from lamps deep-set in the ferro-crete and adamantium walls and rails, burning with an uncertain glow. The deep-throated, dull roar of the engines of the _Pride of Pollux_ could be heard, beating like the heart of the ship. The Engine-Cathedral was never truly silent.

In recesses in the walls, and across the edges of walkways, stood the Skitarii. Each one of them was frozen still, at full attention, gear in impeccable order. Onagers crouched, hidden in dark corners of the vaulted hallways, unmoving, silent. To a casual observer, the Skitarii maniple would appear more as statues than soldiers.

Before the throne of the Arch-Magos knelt three of its followers. Tribune Stroikos-1 was tall, though even his considerable height was dwarfed by the Arch-Magos. The Skitarii Commander knelt before his leader. Sickly green energies seemed to radiate around the Vanguard Tribune, his proud, gear-crested helm bowed in reverence. Across from the Tribune knelt the Electro-Priest Achellius, master of his chapter of the Brotherhood of Petrified Light. The Electro-Priest's bluish-grey skin crackled with his energy, his staff wrapped in constantly changing lightning - a blessing from the Motive Force. Finally, between the two, knelt Cybersmith Tyranus, overseer of the servitors, and the Arch-Magos's second in command. The Cybersmith was clothed in a black robe, a memento of his Forge World home - Stygies.

Craning its neck, the glowing blue lenses of the Arch-Magos glared from beneath its red hood, gazing down upon the three, its human hand gently tapping its fingers upon the throne. The sounds of industry could be heard from below, the noise of engines always in the background.

= _ **There is much to be discovered in this new Galaxy**_ =

The Arch-Magos spoke to the three before it, the vox-speakers where its mouth had once existed spitting out Lingua Technis. Hints of static colored the words of the Arch-Magos, peppered throughout his speech, showing his Martian accent.

= _ **We shall have much work to do. The Quest for Knowledge must be fulfilled**_ =

The red hood turned, its baleful glare changing to the Skitarii Tribune, blue light from the lenses illuminating the area around the slave-soldier.

= _ **Tribune. The Skitarii are to report to Sector 8 of the Engine-Cathedral, and download the Anti-Tau Combat Tacticia. Vanguards are to increase radiation output by 23.4324% for their next battle.**_ =

Dismissed, the Tribune rose up, and began its clanking walk away. Its red robe was tinged with green glowing light, rad censure swinging behind it, harmful energies radiating from the Vanguard. Tribune Stroikos-1 did not have to issue orders as it strode, its mind already interfaced with the command net of the Skitarii Maniple. The will of the Arch-Magos was made known, and the previously still statues of Skitarii warriors began to march towards Sector 8. Clangs filled the Engine-Cathedral, overpowering the noise of industry. As one, the Skitarii marched, the cybernetic warriors moving in lock-step, throughout the vast hallways and catwalks. Blue lenses followed the Tribune and his brethren for a short moment, before twisting and re-focusing on the kneeling Electro-Priest. Crackling blessings of the Motive Force played across the skin and staff of Achellius, the Brotherhood member still kneeling, awaiting command.

= _ **Electro-Priest. The Brotherhood of Petrified Light is to continue their benedictions to the Motive Force, and ensure its blessing upon us. The Brotherhood is to also discover how best to reclaim the Motive Force from these new machines and their spirits. Samples of weaponry and equipment will be provided.**_ =

With a deep bow, the Electro-Priest left, the crackles of lightning that twisted across his body providing illumination. All nearby tech-priests and servitors moved to give the Brotherhood leader room: His kind were notorious for 'reclaiming' the Motive Force from machines and Cult members that they deemed wasteful.

Finally, the hooded head of the Arch-Magos turned upon the lone remaining Mechanicus member before him, the Cybersmith. Tyranus's metal dome of a head reflected the lights of the Engine-Chapel, a stark contrast to his light-absorbing night-colored robes. The red metal and black robes of the Stygies native stood out from the red robes of the other tech-priests, serving as a reminder of the Cybersmith's differing origin.

= _ **Cybersmith Tyranus. Have my lab prepared. I wish to… examine the technology we recovered on Armageddon. I am not to be disturbed, save by Pollux himself.**_ =

Tyranus nodded his metallic red dome in reverence to the Arch-Magos and its command. But still, the Cybersmith paused. The singular blue lense that had replaced his eyes looked up at his master and teacher, adjusting focus slightly as the Cybersmith pondered.

= _Your will be done._ =

He replied. The Arch-Magos's lenses had since dimmed, as the behemoth of man and machine retreated deeper into the systems aboard the _Pride of Pollux_. Waiting a moment longer, Tyranus ventured forth a question, calculating that the Arch-Magos would be only .2346% upset at the interruption.

= _Query: What impact does the New Galaxy have upon the Cult Mechanicus? What impact does the New Galaxy have upon the Quest for Knowledge?_ =

The lenses of the Arch-Magos brightened, its great hooded head tilting and gazing down. Blue light washed harshly over Cybersmith Tyranus, the stare of the Arch-Magos holding strong.

= _ **Cybersmith Tyranus. It is good you inquire of your superior, rather than analyzing yourself. You have learned well. The Cult Mechanicus will persist so long as the sacred designs of the ancients do. So long as man can build wheels, the Cult will persist. The Machine God smiles upon us, Tyranus. He blesses us, and he blesses mankind in this New Galaxy. For the knowledge to create advanced machines, machines of war, conquest and protection, was found on Mars. Mankind found the Omnissiah's gifts upon Mars, and from Mars their knowledge of Machine grew. But, Mankind are yet children in this Galaxy. They know not the ways of the Cult, the ways of the ways of the Omnissiah. We will teach them. They will learn.**_ =

Tyranus nodded slowly, running through the response in his head. Mankind did not yet know, but they would learn. They would learn. Turning, the Cybersmith headed down the catwalk. Mechandites from his back extended, plugging into several nearby servitors. Each one of the paused, as information was transferred, before following the Cybersmith. Mechandites withdrawn, Tyranus strode towards the laboratory of the Arch-Magos, servitor aides following him.

The Laboratory-Chapel of the Arch-Magos was strewn with seemingly random assorted parts, crates of weaponry and technology 'found' on Horizon-Armageddon, and vats growing Cherubs. The vats were running at half-capacity, the growing Cherubs half-made, deformed and still. A copy of a STC fragment was hung on the wall, bits burnt away, guesses made at what was once understood. The servitors around the Cybersmith began their work, unloading crates, bringing up raw materials, organizing tools for easy use, and other, minor, tasks. Tyranus was about to join them, when the transmat altar began to light up. A communication from the Skitarius sent against the Collectors? Gliding his way over, Tyranus plugged one of his mechanical fingers into the info-socket, lense dimming as he received the sent knowledge.

Images of robotic forces, images of Abominable Intelligences. A whole, space-faring nation of them, with ships, armies, foundries. Profaning the Omnissiah's Galaxy with their unholy presence. There was only one name for creatures like this. A name that the Mechanicus only whispered in dark corners. A name that had been cursed by the Omnissiah's avatar himself.

 _The Men of Iron_.

Cybersmith Tyranus staggered back in shock, almost stumbling into something behind him. Turning, he saw what he had bumped into. The Arch-Magos's form filled the industry-lit room, his height towering over the Cybersmith. Blue lights glowed from beneath the red hood, causing the Arch-Magos to look more like a primordial beast than the most holy union of man and machine. The hooded head tilted slightly to the side, as if to pose a question. Tyranus simply gestured to the transmat altar. A long, jointed tentacle of adamantium looped its way to the altar, plugging into the port.

The Arch-Magos unplugged the mechandite after a moment. It was silent, unmoving, its red robes only swaying slightly from an invisible breeze. Besides the gentle hum of machinery and the stomp of servitor feet, the room was quiet. Tyranus was prepared to voice his concern for the Arch-Magos's well-being, when the giant statue itself began to move, red robes flowing across the floor. The Magos's vox-speaker crackled, its command quiet. Quiet, and full of menace.

= _ **The Skitarius has done well. Call for the Tribune. No others are to know**_ =

The Cybersmith bowed his head. His master commanded, and he obeyed. Still slightly shaken, Tyranus left the room. A burst of lingua-techna at a servo-skull, and the floating head left to find the Skitarii commander.

* * *

Whirring sounds of blades and screw could be heard from the laboratory of the Arch-Magos, but it cared not what the Skitarii outside heard. It was their commander, their ruler, their owner. They would obey its every whim. But, still, Skitarii were valuable. They were a precious rarity, especially in this universe. To some in the Mechanicus, the cyborg soldiers were only slightly better than servitors, sent to do the jobs they did not wish to do themselves. To the Arch-Magos, each Skitarius was a work of art.

Tribune Stroikos-1 knelt before it again, waiting for his master to provide new orders. The Tribune was its finest creation, one that had taken several years and several trades with certain, near heretekal contacts to build. But the Arch-Magos was not in the mood to rebuild and retrofit his army.

The Arch-Magos was preparing. For war, yes. That was why it had called the Tribune. But war was not the only thing on its mind. For the Arch-Magos was a fervent disciple of the Quest for Knowledge. And here, in this Galaxy, he had been provided an opportunity. An opportunity undreamed of in the Imperium. The Arch-Magos would be able to dissect a fully functioning Abominable Intelligence.

It was almost giddy with glee.

Finally, after all this time, after all that searching, the situation had resolved itself. There was no need to send out more useless probes and useless servitors, no more need to deal with treacherous Eldar Corsairs. Multiple Abominable Intelligences had been found, and there was no-one left of a higher rank to question his studies.

The Arch-Magos had been careful, oh, ever so careful. And now, the situation was solved. But, despite its desire to capture and study one of the so-called "Geth", they must be attacked, and they must be (mostly) destroyed. The Arch-Magos may be eccentric and may sometimes bend the Commandments and Warnings, but it would never break them. No, the Abominable Intelligences would be destroyed. Just a few may 'disappear' from the field of battle.

Mechandites whirled throughout the room, each an extension of the Mechanicus member's will. It had to prepare, oh yes. It had to prepare the laboratory-chapel for the dissection, but, more importantly, it had to prepare the Tribune for the task ahead. Before the Arch-Magos, the shape of a machine began to take shape. Fervent chanting of sacred and ancient oaths echoed through the room. Whirring buzz-saws, spinning screwdrivers, and tools with uses long forgotten by most all saw their part in the construction. The construction was not particularly unique, nor particularly rare. It was, however, particularly small and detailed. Made to not be noticed. The machine spirit before the Arch-Magos witnessed its own birth, a small quantum chip, made from the archeo-tech designs. Nothing much, besides a way to ensure the plans of the Arch-Magos did not go awry. Insurance, if you will.

Turning, the Martian stood over its servant, mechandites at the ready. Using a specialized tool, one unique to the Arch-Magos itself, it opened the maintenance panel on the Tribune. The still organic remains of the Tribune's brain were nestled amid a forest of electronics and cyberware. Bright lenses searched for the correct spot, before the chip was safely placed in the mind of Stroikos-1. The maintenance panel on the Tribune's skull was closed, bolted, and welded shut.

Stroikos-1 stood, not questioning the Arch-Magos, not wondering what had just been placed in his body. He did not care. The Tribune had only three purposes in life: to worship the Machine God and all its aspects, to give commands to the Skitarii beneath him, and to obey the orders of the Arch-Magos. After all, it was what Stroikos-1 had been made for.

The Skitarii Tribune was dismissed, stomping off to return to the Maniple. The Arch-Magos let him leave, before turning back to its work. There was much to study with this 'Element Zero'. But, unfortunately, the studies would have to wait. With what approximated to a sigh sounding forth from its vox, the Arch-Magos left his work behind. Tools folding into its robes, the Martian left for the elevator. Pollux must know of these Geth.

* * *

A wake of unease, fear, and reverence followed the Arch-Magos as it crawled through the ship, its mechanical feet clicking across the floor like a Tyranid bio-form. Any Mechanicus priest or thrall it passed bowed, as they should. The Arch-Magos was the highest ranking member of the Cult in this Galaxy, and it was only proper that they show fealty. The Guardsmen it passed were considerably more disturbed, for it was not everyday that one saw the holy melding of flesh and machine that was a high-ranking member of the Adeptus Mechanicus. But even they did not think it to be too odd. After all, they had fought against Dark Eldar and the forces of Archenemy. The Mechanicus was strange and eccentric, but it was still familiar. More importantly, the Arch-Magos was still Imperial, and that was what mattered most.

As the Arch-Magos strode onwards, it began to encounter those loyal to the Lord Trader. Ship personnel, dressed in the uniform and colors of House Pollux. Hoplites, infantrymen and boarders outfitted with the best equipment Lord Constantios could buy. And, to the Arch-Magos's dismay, the workers. Pollux had made a point to not use slaves on his ships, instead purchasing the more expensive auto-loaders and actually paying those who lived aboard. The Arch Magos frowned on paying such low-ranking induviduals, as giving them credits and time off generally resulted in lower productivity. Still, it was the Rogue Trader's money that was spent, and so, the Arch-Magos did not make mention of it.

Finally, after traversing much of the ship, the Arch-Magos stood before the bridge. The two guards before him stood to the sides, rifles held at attention. A metallic tentacle reached from beneath the robes of the Martian, worming its way to the control panel. With a hiss of air and a screech of rust, the door opened. The Arch-Magos strode in.

Before it was the bridge, full of life, full of movement. At the moment, the three ships kept in a holding pattern behind the system's star, awaiting Pollux's orders. Even staying in one spot required bridge members to keep active, maintaining and overseeing the thousands of personnel that made up the Rogue Trader's fleet. Far outside the bridge, impossible to see with the naked eye, sat a small ship. One so small, it could have been mistaken for a civilian pleasure vessel, if they had been back in the Imperium. The lenses that had replaced the Arch-Magos's eyes easily picked up the sight, noticing the white ship, and the strange orange and black logo. The logo of Cerberus, if the archives had been correct. The hooded head swung to the side, noticing two very uncomfortable soldiers standing outside the briefing room door. Clad in bodysuits, white armor and helms, they looked to be wearing a slightly worse version of carapace armor. The two clutched their weapons tightly, heads constantly swiveling, trying to ignore the Navigator and his throne. Assumedly from that self-same ship. Five guardswomen also stood throughout the bridge, considerably more relaxed than the two white-armored soldiers. Coms-officer Kell was flirting with one, the rest crouching in a circle, playing the Emperor's Tarot.

The bridge had gone silent when the Arch-Magos had entered, though activity and chatter resumed within moments. The two Cerberus soldiers stared at the Arch-Magos, rifles held tighter. The Mechanicus member could hear their hearbeats, rapidly increasing as the Martian approached them. Vox crackling, the Arch-Magos gestured with his remaining human hand towards the door behind them.

"May I?"

The guardswomen scrambled to salute the Arch-Magos, nodding and activating the door for it. Another guardswoman pushed the rifle of the Cerberus soldier downwards, shaking her head at him, whispering about the Martian. If the Arch-Magos still had a mouth, it would have smiled.

Many mechanical feet clicking forward, the Arch-Magos entered the briefing room, door sliding shut behind it. A rounded table dominated the room, chairs pressed in around it. Of course, none of them would support the Martian's bulk. That mattered not. Metal did not tire from standing still. Lenses adjusting quickly to the different light levels, the Arch-Magos gazed around the room. At the table sat three: the Rogue Trader, the Imperial Guard Commander, and a third, unknown man. Dressed in a black suit, smoking, the grey-haired man nodded to the Arch-Magos.

Standing from his seat, Pollux held a hand towards the Martian, another to the grey-haired man.

"The Arch-Magos, leader of this branch of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The Illusive Man, leader of Cerberus. With all of us here, I do believe it is time to begin. We have a good amount to discuss…"

* * *

 **Sorry about this one's lateness, and the shortness. Despite being nominally human, the Ad-Mech are more 'alien' then most aliens in Mass Effect. Chapters from their perspective are hard to write, and I'm still not sure I'm happy with the final result. Oh well. The next Chapter have more Mass Effect in it, and will focus on the big three 40k commanders meeting with The Illusive Man. After that, we'll probably go back to the Normandy and their adventures. Anyways, thank you all for reading and reviewing, and now to respond!**

 **deeed22: I do wish there were more stories about the non-100%human Imperials in general. There will be Ogryns, Ratlings, and maybe one or two other abhumans in this series as well, don't worry.**

 **: Thank you! Though, the Imperials probably won't find a factory for their needs. They are already capable of stomping most things in the Mass Effect universe, the only thing holding them back is that there's much more of Mass Effect than there are Imperials in the fic. So, they'll try to build a factory or something like that, but don't expect to much 40k tech to start being made soon.**

 **Warrior19: The Guard and the Mechanicus would love to blow up the Citadel, but, both of them need more people. They have to play nice to get the Alliance and the Alliance's population with them before they try to fight all the aliens. On the other hand, Jane Shepard _needs_ more people to fight the Reapers and the Collectors. So, she'll probably reluctantly work with the Imperials, and the Imperials will reluctantly work with her.**

 **Manwithaplan113: Fixed, thanks.**

 **Ghazkull'slefteye: Thank you. I have to agree with you, Shepard in some fics can get a little... odd. I'm going to try and avoid that. As for what her personality is, well, she cares. She cares about humans, but, more importantly to her, she cares about aliens. But yeah, she'll remain an elite soldier, though I'm probably going to try to make her more of diplomat first.**

 **Carre: Thanks! I would have brought more regiments in, but I didn't want the fic to get to cluttered. With six POV OCs, plus all of the Mass Effect characters... Things may have gotten a little crowded.**

 **OBSERVER01: Thanks, and yeah, the Lord Commissar is pretty reasonable. His subordinates may be a little less so, but still, they'll follow his orders.**

 **Thanks again to you all, and please, keep the reviews coming. I love reading them. Next chapter will be up in a week or so, and see you all next time.**


	10. Chapter 10: Allies and Enemies

Giving a slight nod of acknowledgement to the Arch-Magos, the Illusive Man turned back to Pollux. He tapped his cigarette off to the side, a servo-skull waiting with an ash tray. It was the least Pollux could do for his guest, and besides, the Rogue trader had always tried to be hospitable. A pregnant pause was felt as the Martian found his way to the table, silence reigning over the room. Constantios kept a small smile on his face, eyes focused on the suited man opposite him, watching for his reaction. It was always interesting to see someone react the Arch-Magos for the first time. To his credit, the Illusive Man remained unmoved, if not subtly impressed by the Martian's technology. Once the mechanical abomination in red robes stopped moving, the room's attention turned back to the suited man. Tapping his cigarette once more, the Cerberus Leader leaned against his chair, a grin forming on his face.

"Look at this. Look at this! I have been fighting for humanity for more than half my life. I have been continually outnumbered, outgunned, and outmanned. I have lost friends to this fight. And now, finally, allies. Lady and gentlemen, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"And I yours. Our galaxy's humanity has been fighting for millennia against the xenos threat. It is disturbing to see how far mankind has fallen from the Emperor's commandments here. Our intel tells us that Systems Alliance joined the alien Citadel Council? Truly, Cerberus is an island of sanity among these xeno-lovers and misguided populations."

The Illusive Man's face hardened at Pollux's words. His knuckles grew white from gripping the edges of his chair. Constantios noticed the soft blue glow of the other man's narrowing eyes. The man must have been augmented in similar ways to Rogue Trader himself.

"Some forget the First Contact War. Some forget Shanxi Prime. Some do not believe that an alien attempt at human genocide is inevitable. Humanity needs a guardian in these dark times. Who will fill that role? The Alliance? They are nothing more than a bunch of simpering politicians, who cannot even protect their own colonies against slaver raids. I created Cerberus to be the guardian of humanity. A final light against the encroaching darkness."

The cigarette sizzled as it was pressed into the ashes. The Illusive Man's jaw clenched, his right hand slightly twitching from old memories.

"The Citadel Council has made humanity bleed. I will not forget that. I will not forgive that. I will punish them."

"Xenos are treacherous beasts. I may not have been the most pious man to receive a warrant of trade, and the Emperor only knows how often I have failed to obey the letter of the law. But know this: The fleet of House Pollux will aid you in this duty. The only question is to which one of these damned aliens we exterminate first."

"I will cast my lot behind you Pollux, but my soldiers need food and rest. Morale is high at the moment, but there are only so many supplies to go around. We need munitions. We need food. We need more soldiers. More importantly than all that, we need a base. A place to retreat to. A place to plan our attacks from."

"Cerberus can provide most of that, Commander…?"

"Miriel. Lady General Miriel."

The Illusive Man held his hands out in a placating gesture. Activating his omni-tool, he pulled up a map of the galaxy, the orange light from his wrist illuminating the room. His fingers circling several points of interest, each highlighted by his touch. The Arch-Magos' lenses refocused on the technology. A mechanical quill-hand protruded from within the robe, taking notes on parchment of what the Arch-Magos saw.

"Supplies may be an important concern for you, but a bigger question is what you're going to do next. You cannot continue to hide. The Council will notice ships as big as this. It's a miracle the people of Horizon didn't see them. My cyber-warfare division has had their hands full making sure none of the pictures taken on Horizon get out. These ships need a place to hide. Therefore, I propose a trade. This system here is labelled as nothing more than a mining site in Alliance records. Cerberus currently has a small, but well-stocked base established on this moon here. I suggest you move your ships here, as fast as you can."

"How do we know your organization does not plan to attack my fleet? I may trust you more than any of the other powers in this Galaxy, but do not presume to much."

"Pollux, I wish Cerberus had enough firepower to even dent one of your ships. Hell, I doubt even the Asari could take down your flagship. And if that's not enough, I plan to stay on this ship with you when you jump. Your warp-drive is like nothing we've seen, and I'd like a little first-hand experience."

"Very well, very well. We shall head there and attempt to gather our strength. I trust you will be able to replicate some technologies for our new allies, Arch-Magos?"

The Arch-Magos creaked as its head craned up from its writing. A few rusty squeaks could be heard as the barely human construct moved, and Pollux wondered if it had forgotten to apply the sacred oils this morning.

"The Mechanicus will provide aide on one condition. I have received disturbing reports from the Skitarius that was embedded with your Normandy crew. Reports of the Geth. The Omnissiah demands the destruction of the Geth. More than that, I demand the destruction of the Geth. They are unholy abominable intelligences. They wield technology that rightfully should be studied by the Mechanicus. They are an important step in this galaxy's Quest for Knowledge. The only logical course for the Mechanicus is to make war upon them. Until a way is discovered for the Mechanicus to do so, my priests and I can and will withhold our technology from Cerberus"

"The Geth may not be a galactic power, but there is only so much three ships can do against them. Cerberus will certainly be willing to help, but we can only do so much"

"Something must be done against them. No technology will be shared otherwise."

"Arch-Magos, calm yourself. I am certain that something can be arranged. Cerberus are our allies in this new Galaxy, and perhaps the only ones we shall receive. House Pollux will aid the Mechanicus as we have done before, but the man is right. We must plan a course of attack. We must gather our strength. Until we have the numbers and the ships to make war, we must bide our time. Cerberus should be able to provide some way to strike against them momentarily, correct?"

"Of course, Pollux. Arch-Magos, you mistake me. With time, I am sure we can destroy them. As for the moment, we need to prepare. I propose a trade. The system you will be heading to has the location to construct a factory. I will provide the raw materials, I simply ask that part of that factories constructions are shared with my organization. As for the Geth, I am certain that one of Pollux's smaller ships would be more than a match for a Geth dreadnought. I'll look through what my spies have reported for me, and I should be able to provide an isolated convoy to attack. You can gather what intel you want, without launching an all-out war."

"That is… agreeable. For now."

The robotic tones of the Arch-Magos echoed across the chamber, the lumbering behemoth of human and machine eyeing up the Illusive Man. A dessicated, but still flesh-covered hand emerged from beneath the red robes. Reaching out, it shook hands with the man, the latter seemingly not bothered by the metal monstrosity.

"The Geth may deserve war, but the Batarians provide a much more direct threat to humanity. Continued raids against colonies, and complete lack of response from mankind's 'Alliance' should make them a priority. The Astra Militarum have agreed that the Batarian menace deserves destruction, but, more importantly, their human slaves deserve salvation."

"Lady General, I agree with you. The Batarians have been biting at the heels of the Alliance for years upon years now. While Cerberus may have resources and connections, we don't currently have the manpower for full-scale operations against them. With your arrival…"

"I have seen humans enslaved by xenos before, and I wish I could forget those memories. These Batarians may not be Orks, but they are no less deserving of extermination."

"Cerberus has intelligence on a rather large slaver hideout in the Plutus system. Here, on this star-map. There's a few ships in the surrounding atmosphere, and a fortress hidden on the planet of Mingito. Cerberus has simply not had the man-power to attack the slaver fortress."

"The Imperial Guard has the manpower. The Imperial guard has the tanks.. Should we be provided transport, we will crush the xenos. We cannot let humans be slaves to the alien any longer."

Pollux stood from his chair, his hands resting against the desk. His Cadian greatcoat was pulled around his shoulders, his bionic enhancements whirring as he rose.

"The Flames of Darmok will bring the Arch-Magos and his retinue to the moonbase. Pride of Pollux and Storm of Edda will bring the Guard to the slavers, and drive the alien from their home. I may be a Rogue Trader, but I'll be damned before I let xenos attack humanity without revenge. Does Cerberus have any objections?"

The Illusive man raised his hands, shaking his head.

"It'll be interesting, seeing your ships in combat. By all means, go ahead."

* * *

The Illusive Man and the Rogue Trader stood side by side on the bridge. Miriel had gone to prepare her troops for landing, and the Arch-Magos had gone to the Engine-Cathedral to prepare for the warp-jump. Pollux's personal guard, his hoplites, waited around the bridge. Each was armored with the best carapace armor money could buy, each equipped with with back-pack fed hellguns. Pollux took no chances with Warp travel, and the smaller the chance was for him to be eaten by a daemon, the happier he became. The Navigator had told him of the Warp's unusual calmness, but Constantios tried to never let his guard down. You could never trust the Warp. Besides the hoplite guards, the soldiers of Cerberus stood at the ready. The Illusive Man had brought eight more aboard with him, giving a total of ten men and women in dirty white armor. Each looked slightly out of their depth, their rifles held at the ready, their stances nervous and twitchy. Some stared at the Navigator in his throne, the psyker meditating in preparation for the jump. The Illusive Man's ship had already left, and another Cerberus ship was planned to be waiting in the system when the Imperials arrived. Nominatively to pick up the Illusive Man after the combat, but Constantios suspected that Cerberus wanted a recording of the ship to ship combat. Well, let him have it, he thought. House Pollux would show its strength today.

The bridge's tech-priests and adepts began to vocalize their sacred rites and hymns, a strange, unearthly mix of Low Gothic and Binary chant filling the room. The mechanical singing had an odd tune to it, lilting softly as levers were pulled and buttons were pushed. The three ships of House Pollux turned gently, guided by the tech-priest's knowing hands and mechandites, all heading towards this system's Mandeville point. The area where it was safe to enter the Warp, without destroying any of the system in the process. The three ships glided to a stop as they gathered around the point, each pointing the same way, each undergoing their own preparations. The tech-priests became silent, their hymns to the Pride of Pollux's machine spirit becoming subvocal and continuous.

The Rogue Trader felt the gathering of psychic energies around the Navigator, though he could not see it. Freezing air rushed in small, twirling vortexes around the bridge, a dull whine echoing across the ship. The Warp-drive was powering up. Though it seemed like an eternity, Pollux knew the procedure could not have lasted for more than a few seconds. The dull whine became a hum, the noise slowly building to a crescendo that never came. The sound cut off with a sudden silence, and reality was torn apart.

The starry void before the small fleet was torn in half, the sky ripping open like a pair of curtains violently jerked to the side. The laws of physics died an ignoble death as the three portals appeared, one for each ship in the fleet. Somehow, the place behind the portal managed to be both all colors at once, and have no color at all. The three ships of House Pollux entered the swirling vortex that was the Warp, crackling, gigantic sorcerous lightning wrapping around the edges of the portals. As the back of the Pride of Pollux entered the portal, it snapped shut behind the ship, the last image of stars and the Materium left behind. Adamantium screens slammed shut over the view ports of the bridge, cutting off the imagery of the Warp from the crew. The Navigator was stiff in his throne, his covered eyes looking back and forth, seeing more than any mere mortal ever could, searching for his eventual destination.

"Pollux, I must commend you. If I had not seen this with my own eyes, I would not have believed it possible. Cerberus has much to learn."

"Humanity has much to learn. It should be a few more hours till we arrive. The Geller fields are fully functioning, but should they fail, I suggest you use that pistol on yourself. If we lose our protection against the Warp, you shall learn the true meaning of nightmares."

The Illusive Man raised a brow, before taking a puff from a newly acquired cigarette. The Cerberus soldiers that he had brought aboard looked suitably rattled, their rifles held in tight grips, every single one of them on edge. Good, Pollux thought. Wariness in the Warp was the only way to stay alive.

The hours passed in silence. On a normal jump Constantios would allow his crew to relax slightly during a jump, perhaps have a bit of amsec and a few games of Emperor's tarot. However, this was not a normal jump. This was the first Warp jump in this new galaxy, and no-one had known what to expect. The quiet of the bridge was only broken by the occasional cough, or the tap of the cigarette against the servo-skull's ashtray. The light around the Navigator's throne was unbroken, the psyker's third eye piercing the adamantium walls around the bridge and into the insanity that is the Warp.

Constantios smelled the acidic scent of Warp lightning, as his ship began to slow down. The shutters on the viewing ports began to rise, revealing an opened portal to reals-space. The ship was guided towards it, all aboard the bridge gazing out into the Materium. None dared to glance to their sides, into the unknowing of the Warp. With an incredibly loud silence, the portal closed behind the Pride of Pollux, the Rogue Trader's ears popping as the ship emerged. A smaller portal appeared and closed, as the Storm of Edda appeared from the Warp, safe from the perils that may have befallen it. At a slow speed, the Lunar-class cruiser and it's frigate companion arrived behind the outermost planet, a gas giant. The Pride of Pollux extended itself beyond the gas giant, all of its sensors pointed towards the furthest planet away. Mingito. Their target. Their sensors read that a small cluster of fighters and four escort class ships waited above the atmosphere, the image being blown up onscreen.

"Pollux, those aren't fighters and escorts. Those are frigates and cruisers."

"Well then, the xenos scum will just have the chance to see what a real ship looks like. Officer Kell! Prepare the lance battery. Tell the Edda to prepare for combat. Let's see how the alien likes the taste of House Pollux!"

With a cry of "Yessir!", the bridge of the Pride of Pollux burst into action. Crew members began contacting other parts of the ship, powering up weapons, and hailing the Edda. Slowly but surely, the the Pollux accelerated, heading straight for the xenos fleet. With the void shields up, Constantios doubted that the Batarian ships could even dent his ship. Still, he did not intend to give them a chance to try. The Rogue Trader's hand rose, waiting for the right moment. He brought it down in a chopping motion, his ship's lance cannon firing at his signal. The weapon was meant to cripple other renegade or heretical cruisers, tearing through their shields and armor. It vaporized the Batarian ship it hit. The Batarian fleet sprung into action at the shot, as the Pollux bore down on them, an unstoppable juggernaut. The 'frigates' began to take potshots back at the Pollux, attempting to outmaneuver it. Thanks to their size, the Batarian frigates managed to succeed, avoiding the lance cannon of the Pollux. By avoiding the Lunar-class cruiser prow, the xenos ships flew to the sides. Right in the way of the Pollux's Hecutor Pattern Plasma Macrocannons. Constantios watched the explosions from his viewscreens. It was not often he was able to revel in complete naval domination, but he certainly enjoyed it. The Batarian cruisers attempted to put up more of a fight, forming off the belly of the Pollux, peppering it's void shield with their weak, ineffective fire. The Edda emerged, once hidden behind the Pollux, and simply accelerated. Its reinforced prow split the first cruiser it encounter in half, the xenos that survived the contact vented into the void. Though the Edda had no where near the same capabilities as its larger brethren, the Firestorm-class frigate destroyed all it faced against.

As soon as the battle had begun, it ended. It had been a brutally short affair, and Constantios felt like it may have been slight overkill to use his flagship in the affair. It felt like sending a whole chapter of Astartes after a feral world farmer who had forgotten to pay a tithe. Still, they were victorious in space, and it was time for the ground troops to pull their weight. With a nod of permission to Kell, the Coms Officer began to communicate with the Imperial Guard aboard the ship. Soon, dropships, Valkyries, and Vultures would begin to fly out of his ship, and rescue the humans enslaved below. With a snap, Pollux summoned one of his servitors.

"Fetch me some amsec. I think our new friend and I could enjoy a bottle after that little disappointment."

* * *

The skies above Mingito were shaded green. A radioactive wasteland made up most of the planet's surface, with a few mountains dotting the endless plains. One of these mountains stood out, walls made from damaged or destroyed ships forming a make-shift fortress in it's shadow. A long line of slaves were rushed out from a crash-landed Batarian ship, chained together, wearing nothing but torn clothing. Batarians stood guard around the gate, wearing full helmets and suits, ignoring the biting desert wind on the slaves. Watchtowers rose haphazardly up in different locations around the mountain, some crowned by AA platforms, others by Batarian soldiers. No vehicles besides the frantically hovering gunships could be spotted around the slaver fortifications.

Miriel handed the binoculars back to the Rough Rider sergeant. His squadron and the Lady General had been dropped off by a Valkyrie many kloms away, out of sight from prying eyes. The squad had led Miriel to this location, half-way up one of this planet's jutting mountains. A perfect spot for recon. With a silent wave, Miriel gestured for the Rough Rider's com's unit to be brought over. Her voice crackled into the vox, muffled slightly by her gasmask.

"Operation Freedom is a go. Colonels Victoria and Kjarten, begin the distraction."

"Confirmed. The Emperor Protects."

"Awknowledged, Lady General."

The other lines went dead, as a small dust cloud began to kick up in the distance. A single file line of Chimeras could be seen, stretching onwards into the the dust. The column fanned out, over two hundred Chimeras from the Steel Legion heading towards the fortress. Within a few minutes, the Batarian base noticed their approach. Scattered autocannon fire was directed towards the fortress, barely causing damage, but certainly getting the slavers' attention. Gunships lifted off from platforms, more dust clouds rising in their wake. 'Mantis' Gunships, if the intel from Cerberus had been correct. The Chimera autocannons did little in their scattered, weak response, as almost a hundred Batarian Gunships lifted off.

As the Gunships neared, the Chimeras began to peel away to the sides. The cloud of sand and dirt that had grown behind them began to thin, shapes emerging from it. Shapes of low-flying Vulture Gunships. Vulture lascannon and gatling fire burned away the remains of the cloud, as the Batarian Mantis Gunships attempted to return fire. Though the Mantis Gunships were inferior to the Imperial design, they still outnumbered the Vultures. Forgotten in the aerial dogfighting going on above them, the backs of Chimeras began to open, Missile teams quickly deploying from their transports. Soon, krak missiles streaked across the sky. Each one added to the destruction, explosions sounding, scattered lasguns from the infantrywomen lighting up the sky. The entire aerial armada of the Batarian base engaged in combat as screams echoed across the valley. AA guns mounted atop the fortress held their fire, not wanting to destroy their own equipment.

While the roar of over two hundred Chimeras had been loud, the rumble of the Leman Russ column was near deafening. Standing proudly atop the lead tank's turret, Colonel Kjarten held his chainsword and the 353rd's banner aloft. The tanks rounded the mountain's corner on the other side, Leman Russes firing their turrets on the move. The 353rd was on the opposite side of the base, grinding their way onto open terrain. Each turret aimed for the AA platforms, streaks of plasma and shells wreaking havoc on the make-shift and scavenged fortress. Troops began to sporadically return fire, a few lucky shots from anti-tank weaponry stopping three Leman Russes in the dust. Their main turrets and sponsons continued to fire, but their busted tracks prevented any more movement.

"Commissar Lee, tell Colonel Julius to begin the assault."

"Understood. For Armageddon. Till Armageddon."

In the background static on the vox-line, Miriel heard the warcries of the Steel Legion. A small smile broke across her face, hidden by her mask. The chant began to grow in strength across the vox-channel, as Valkyries flew by the mountain where she stood.

"FOR ARMAGEDDON! TILL ARMAGEDDON!"

Each Valkyrie was packed with Steel Legionnaires of the 529th. Lascarbines at the ready, those that passed closest to Miriel position saluted her as they went, the battlecry of a homeworld echoing across the radioactive plains. The Valkyries flew by the battle of Vultures and the Mantises, the cry picked up by ground soldiers and pilots alike. A few Mantis Gunships tried to break off and engage the Valkyries, only to be shot down by surface missile teams.

A second column of Chimeras drove towards the fortress gates, almost unopposed. The 529th Regiment was known for its love of close-quarters combat. As the fore-front Chimeras breached the gate, they began unloading squadrons of chainsword-wielding veterans, supported by Bullgryns and Ogryns. Valkyries began to land nearby and inside the slaver fortress, the Leman Russes outside circling, looking for prey.

The Mantis Gunship fleet, cut off from support from their fortress, damaged and bleeding, attempted to retreat. Vulture Gunships pursued them. Missiles and lascannon fire streaked through the air, the limping Mantises trying desperately to escape. The Batarian Gunships ran into the Leman Russ tanks scattered outside, a surface to air battle beginning. Valkyries, having deployed their troops, rose from inside the slaver hideout, joining the fight.

This was the Imperial Guard. Cries of "Suffer not the xenos to live!" echoed through the vox-traffic.

This was the Imperial Guard. Not a xenos gunship survived.

Miriel left her viewing position, tossing the vox equipment to a nearby guardsman The Lady General and the ten man Rough Rider squadron mounted up. It was time to enter the layer of the xenos.

* * *

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE IMPERIUM!"

"STEEL LEGION! ATTACK!"

"FOR EMPEROR AND IMPERIUM!"

"BURN THE HERETIC! PURGE THE UNCLEAN! KILL THE ALIEN!"

Each warcry echoed through the camp, guardsmen of the 529th swarming the place. Lasguns burnt through the toxic sky, the air a mix of lasfire, screams, and bullets. Lord Commissar Lee stood behind a wall, watching bloodthirsty legionnaires running headfirst into battle. The pride and joy of the 529th, their veteran squadrons, led the way. Chainswords and powerswords rose and fell, foul xenos blood spraying across the walls and sand. Checking his bolt pistol, the Commissar turned to join them, attaching himself to a particularly head-strong squadron.

The fortress interior was mostly made up of a large shantytown of buildings, built from space-ship scrap. Unknown xenos symbols adorned the walls of buildings, corpses littering the way forward. A blue explosion nearby threw the Commissar and his men to the side, crushing one, a Batarian appearing in the aftermath. A xenos psyker. With a glance around, Sun Lee saw that this was not an isolated event. Batarian psykers led the defences, practically teleporting into Guard formations, firing wildly before being put down. As the xenos psyker before him yelled a battle cry and began shooting, the Lord Commissar sighed. His bolt pistol sounded, and the Batarian psyker's chest was no more. The corpse had been tossed back by the bolt's explosion, twitching slightly as the xenos refused to realize its death. Though it was a nasty surprise that these Batarians had psykers, it was a relief that they were only near Iota-levels of power. Turning to the veterans behind him, the Commissar prepared to berate them into going onwards. With a cry of "BURN THE WITCH!", the veteran squadron jumped back into the fight, ignoring their slain squadmate, ignoring the threat of the xenos psykers.

Lord Commissar Lee remembered why he loved this regiment.

Valkyries began to strafe the compound, las-fire tearing any cover to pieces. The Steel legion pressed further into the fortress, each wall hiding a Batarian soldier, each dark corner a xenos psyker. The sergeant Lee was with kicked open a door, revealing several Batarian soldiers with hands raised above their heads, weapons on the floor before them. By their slightly fancier attire, Sun Lee judged them to be commanders. They went down screaming, the sergeant's chainsword tearing through the closest one's stomach, spraying offal everywhere.

Kicking open the back door of the room revealed a tunnel, leading into the darkness. The sergeant turned to Sun Lee, a question written on his face.

"We go forward, guardsmen. We go forward."

With a nod of acknowledgement, the sergeant led the way, each legionnaire switching on their uniform's luminators. Harsh white light flooded the tunnel, with small flecks of both red and blue blood on the walls.

"Fix bayonets, lads. Lets show the Commissar what the Steel Legion is made of!"

The dull, throbbing roar of the sergeant's chainsword was now mixed with the metallic noises of the guardsmen preparing for close quarters. Lee held his powersword close, the blue glow of the blade almost hidden by the bright lights of the guardsmen. There was a twist in the tunnel ahead, yellow light illuminating the tunnel wall. With a gesture, the guardsmen cut their lights. Lascarbines held tightly, the sergeant raised his hand. After a look towards the Lord Commissar for permission, the guardsmen rounded the corner.

"FOR THE IMPERIUM OF MAN!"

Two surprised Batarians looked up from a card game, one impaled on a bayonette, the other brutally decapitated by a chainsword. Feminine screams could be heard, and so, the Commissar turned, following the blood spray.

There, in cages, were some of the Batarian's slaves. Just not the human ones. 16 of the 'Asari' xenos were huddled against a cell wall, their cage door spattered with the slain Batarian's blood.

Their curves were too human, their shape too close to a woman's. They appeared to be scared, horrified even, of the Steel Legionnaires and the Lord Commissar. Their beautiful forms were readily revealed by the little clothing they were wearing, their eyes wide and innocent. The war cries of the guardsmen had failed, and they looked at the xenos women with something resembling pity. Pity, and a little awe at the beauty of the xenos form. Lasguns were lowered, the sputtering chainsword winding down its power. The lead Asari, a strong, hourglass shaped xeno, approached the cage door, striding directly towards the Commissar with a look of wonder and some surprise on its face.

"Are you… Are you here to rescue us?"

Lee pulled the trigger on his bolt pistol. The Asari's brains painted the wall behind it.

"No."

The sound of the bolt firing shocked the guardsmen out of their trance. Raising their lasguns, they held down the trigger till all of the enslaved Asari were nothing more than burnt corpses. While they may have had heretical thoughts of freeing the Asari xenos before, the bolt reminded them of the Lord Commissar's presence. And no guardsman, no matter how stupid, would attempt to aid xenos with a Commissar standing next to them.

The room clear, Commissar Lee led the squadron back up the tunnel. The guardsmen were quiet for a few moments. But, the foul ideas planted by the scantily clad xenos scum back in the tunnel faded from their minds, the group became more invigorated. They heard more warcries sounding outside, more screams of the dying Batarian scum. The door out of the tunnel was kicked open, the Lord Commissar leading the veterans out of the shack. Ash filled the skies above the battle-torn compound. Valkyries and Vultures alike flitted between plumes of smoke, firing at the ground, keeping the Batarians contained. Flame troopers marched from shack to shack, building to building, burning the place down. Leman Russes rolled on behind them, flamer sponsons aiding in the task. Burnt corpses littered the ground. The xenos had not given mercy to their human slaves, and no mercy was afforded the xenos. Just as the Emperor had commanded.

There was a gate blocking a tunnel, a larger one than what they had explored before. A few guardsmen were working on it, but it appeared to have been welded shut. There was only so much lascarbines could do to several inches of metal. There. Behind that gate, in that tunnel. That would be where the slaves were held. Hopefully human ones this time. Waving his powersword at a nearby Chimera, Sun Lee got it to trundle over to his position. Wordlessly, he pointed at the gate, the guardsmen in front of it scrambling to get out of the way. The Chimera's turret autocannon began to fire, the metal bending and breaking with each successive hit. With a clang, the gates burst open, revealing yet another tunnel, guarded by scared but resilient xenos. The autocannon kept on firing, and soon, the Batarians guarding the tunnel were no more. Waving the Chimera onwards, along with a few squadrons of guardsmen, the Commissar and his men entered the tunnel. Lights flicked on, from the vehicle and the infantrymen alike. Slowly, they trudged into the blackness, the soft glow of the Lord Commissar's sword leading the way. Occasionally, lasguns would flash, and a Batarian would fall from the shadows. Sometimes, a Steel Legionnaire would fall before the Batarian did. Such was life in the guard. And, all accounted for, this was a relatively light assignment. Better than fighting the traitor Astartes, at any rate.

A noise from the dark woke Sun Lee from his thoughts. Hold a fist above his head, the group ground to a halt. The noise was heard again, a few guardsmen heads cocking at the sound. Sun Lee recognized the sound. It was a sound he had heard all too often. It was a sound he had never hoped to hear again.

It was the whimpering of a human child.

The Chimera drove forward slightly, illuminating what looked like a switch. Lee turned it on, lighting up the dark cavern. Before him was a hollowed out chamber, blocked by a chain-linked fence and gate. Inside the chamber were over a hundred humans, collars around their necks, eyes red from the planet's atmosphere. They stared at the guardsmen outside with a mix of hope, desperation, and despair. The Commissar strode to the chain-link gate, severing the locks with a slice from his powersword.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Get in there, soldier! Fit the elderly and children in the Chimera! Get more vehicles! Emperor-dammit, these people need help!"

The Commissar's shouted commands started the guardsmen from their stares. While a Lord Commissar did not technically have authority over the Imperial Guard's soldiers, none of the 529th would disobey one. Besides, the Steel Legion respected Sun Lee, and always did as he 'advised'. Turning back to the enslaved mass, the Commissar held out his hands, his bolt-pistol placed in his belt. He was grateful that that tech-priest had implanted him with one of those translation nodes, as his clear, military voice echoed through the cavern.

"Friends, humans, brothers and sisters. We are not here to enslave you. We are not here to hurt you. We are here to rescue you. We are here to help."

The huddled group looked at him with dull, red-rimmed eyes, despair melting away. Lee spotted the child who had been crying, one that could not be older than five. Snot ran down the young boy's face. His mother was trying to hold him up on her weak frame, child at her hip. A defiant and catious look adorned her hard face. Like the rest of the slaves, they looked at the Commissar with both fear and hope. They did not recognize him, nor his uniform. But he had just claimed to free them, claimed to help. Smiling, Sun Lee took off his black coat, adorned with medals from countless campaigns. His coat, that denoted his officer as holding one of the highest ranks a Commissar could have. He placed it around the mother's thin, shivering frame, making sure she was comfortable, making sure she felt safe. He picked the boy up from her trembling arms, giving her another warm, welcoming smile. The boy was sat on his shoulders. The symbol of his office, the Commissar cap, was placed on the child's head. The soldiers outside looked on, a few laughing in their rough way. They were not used to seeing this side to the Commissar. The child on his shoulders, Lee guided the mother out of the cave, only pausing to helpe an elderly man up. He guided the trio him to the Chimera, as the rest of the enslaved humans began to follow.

"Forwards, my friends. For freedom!"

* * *

 **AN: Well, here it is. Sorry it took so long. Lots of irl stuff kept me from writing for a while, the least of which were my college midterms. But hey, the chapter is here now! It was originally going to be two chapters, but I felt like my original draft of Ch.10 was to short and uninteresting, so here you go. I do feel like I could have added more detail, and I might go back later to do so, but I wanted to actually publish something for you guys after so much silence. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! The next will bring us back to the Normandy, and all of our friends there. There's so much more I could write, but I'll try to keep this AN section brief, and just say thank you for reading, and thanks for the reviews!**

 **Ghazkull'slefteye: Thank you! You'll get to see more of what Shepard is like in the next chapter, as its planned on being focused around her, Amelie, and Miranda. But while this story's Shepard is a competent soldier, she is an exceptional diplomat. And thanks for your comments about the Mechanicus. Though, they are hard to write!**

 **Abbadon953: The Tribune may have seemed brainless, but he certainly isn't. However, he is fanatically loyal to the Arch-Magos, and given that the Arch-Magos hasn't needed him to do much, the Tribune has been quiet. He'll be getting a lot more focus later on down the line, and perhaps even a POV chapter.**

 **Grey: While the Mechanicus is technically against xeno-tech, and the masses of Skitarii and Tech-priests are against it, someone as powerful as the Arch-Magos is allowed some lee-way. After working with a Rogue Trader for so long, the Arch-Magos doesn't care nearly as much about using xeno-tech to modify oneself as a more rank and file Mechanicus member would. Though he does hate the alien, if the alien is sufficiently advanced, the Arch-Magos may make an exception for their technology. Besides, who knows what mysteries lie beneath the Martian's robes...**

 **Carre: Beastmen do exist, but the regiments in this story do not employ them. I may include a few squats in the Super-Heavy tank regiment, as they are said to have fought on Armageddon in all three wars, although it is older lore. I did want the people sent to the Normandy to at least have a chance at blending in for a while, but don't worry, they'll be abhumans to shock the Citadel Council. As for when the Citadel Council and the Imperials meet, well, that will be in a few more chapters. The Imperials need to figure out their longer-term plans in the meantime.**

 **Blackwraith: Thanks man! May the Emperor protect you too.**

 **If any of you readers have a question about the story, or spot a typo or a lore problem, please, let me know! I'll try and answer and fix what you guys point out.**


	11. Chapter 11: Miranda

Sigismund's iron hand caught Grunt's thrown fist.

A clang of metal and hardened flesh echoed through the mess hall. He caught the other fist with his bare hand, a wince crossing his scarred face. Biceps strained beneath the soldier's undershirt. The Krogan was forced back, step by step. Sigismund's shirt barely contained his flexing bulk, sweat stains appearing on his pits. Grunt let loose a cry of rage. His head whipped forward into Sigismund's. The man's head snapped back from the hit. His hands gave up their grip on Grunt's fists, and the soldier stumbled as if drunk. Grunt yelled again, a cry of hate and pain. His punches began to land. Sigismund kept a hand to his face, blood flowing freely from a broken nose. Grunt's rib punches each hit with an audible slam, enough to leave bruises for weeks. Sigismund's free hand scrambled across a nearby table, fingers finally landing on a half-full food tray. The tray moved faster than the eye could track, straight to Grunt's head. The hit staggered him enough for Sigismund to regain his balance and wipe the blood from his eyes. The tray was a misshapen piece of metal now, a direct outline of Grunt's face pressed into the aluminium. The two eyed each other for a few moments, each waiting for the next opening.

Sigismund jumped.

The soldier connected with the Krogan, knocking the already staggered Grunt to the ground. The iron fist worked as a brutal piston, rising and falling again against Grunt's face, cartilage and carapace flying everywhere. Grunt roared in pain, half-choked by blood. Sigismund's face was not contorted by anger, instead, a determined grimace crossed the scarred and blood covered visage. A heavy back-hand knocked Sigismund away to his hands and knees. A kick to his already bruised ribs knocked the air out of him. The Guardsman rolled to the side, landing on his ass next to a table. Blood and food from the tray dribbled down the now standing Krogan's face. Sigismund inched his way backwards. The Krogan stomped his way forward. He spat out blood. One eye was swollen shut. Sigismund struggled to force air into his lungs. Once Grunt was close enough, Sigismund's hand shot out. He grabbed a bench from the table next to him, and slid it into Grunt's legs with all the force he could muster. The Krogan lost his balance. For the second time in the fight, he fell, yelling. The two rose to their feet, eyeing each other, circling, waiting for an another opening. Sigismund's iron fist dripped Krogan blood, and his face dripped with his own. Every step to the right resulted in a wince, his organic hand pressed to his side.

"Come on, you xeno piece of shit! COME ON!"

Sigismund's yell jolted Grunt into a rage. His head lowered, and he charged. Sigismund rolled to the side on his shoulder as Grunt plowed into a table. Sigismund stood, interlacing his fingers and slamming the fists into Grunt's back. The Krogan barely noticed the hit. A knee went to the soldier's stomach. Sigismund's meal sprayed out, catching on Grunt's natural armor.

Sigismund caught the Krogan's leg. His hand shot out, and caught the Krogan's arm as well. The Guardsman let out a roar. Sigismund lifted Grunt off the ground. His muscles strained. His face went red. Tendons in his neck and arms looked ready to burst. Grunt was jerked over the short man's head. Time seemed to freeze.

The occupants of the mess hall had pressed to the sides. Most stared on in horror. Zaeed's eyes were fixed on the fight, excitement crossing them. He gripped the edge of his table with intensity, jaw clenching, head swiveling from the human to the Krogan. Miranda looked on in interest. Her omni-tool was out. She recorded specific details as she saw them, preparing a report for Cerberus. The Illusive Man would certainly want to know about this.

Sigismund slammed Grunt back into the ground. The tall Krogan hit the floor with a sound like thunder, bouncing once or twice. Sigismund stumbled back from the effort, visibly exhausted.

Grunt began to laugh his throaty, reptilian laugh.

He forced himself to his feet, though it was clear that the Krogan favored one side over the other. A leg threatened to give way, shaking unhealthily. Despite that he now hunched over from pain, Grunt still stood almost two feet above his enemy.

"WE. ARE. KROGAN!"

Grunt's response had been coughed out. A second food tray was thrown at Sigismund, the man dodging Grunt's tired attack. It clanged against the wall by Miranda, the remaining food spraying upon impact. Sigismund spat back in response, blood mixed in with spittle. The two began to circle each other once more. Their circle was a stumbling, blood-and-food-sprayed mess, but neither would be the first to give up. Grunt's chest heaved, and he prepared to charge again.

Sigismund was bowled over by the charge, the man caught in Grunt's arms. Grunt thundered to the wall, slamming Sigismund against it. His six fingers grasped themselves around the Guardman's throat, squeezing. Tightening. The iron hand flew up, straight into Grunt's elbow. It bent at a wrong angle, and Grunt let Sigismund free, roaring in pain. His arm hung by his side, non-responsive for the moment.

Phlegm filled coughs echoed from Sigismund's mouth. His organic hand massaged his bruised throat. The metal hand remained clutched in a fist.

Grunt cradled his arm, his inhuman scream echoing through the mess hall as he shoved a joint back into place. The arm functioned once more, but it clearly caused great pain to move.

The door to the mess hall slid open.

Jane Shepard stood in the doorway. Her hand sat on her pistol. Her face was red with anger. The rest of the room tried to sidle away. No one could meet her eyes. Grunt saw her first, Sigismund second. Both the Krogan and the Guardsman avoided her glare. Both of them shuffled away from each other. Grunt's jaw worked without sound. His mouth opened to explain, but a glance at Shepard's eyes made him close it. Sigismund put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, head tilted to the floor. They were like two petulant children caught by their mother. The mess hall had been trashed. Tables and benches were covered in vomit, spilled food, and blood.

"My office. Now."

Shepard caught Miranda dismissing her omni-tool. A finger extended, pointing. Accusing. Crew members near her shied away slightly. Jane's thumb jerked behind her.

"You too."

Miranda followed the three down the hallway, head held high. She would not be shamed, she had no part in the fight.

The tall Krogan and the shorter man kept their eyes on the ground. Each was a great warrior on their own, but like all soldiers, they recognized when they had done wrong. Sigismund kept his arms behind his head. He plodded on behind Shepard, without a single aggressive movement. Given the trench-coated army's disciplined performance on Horizon, Miranda assumed that Sigismund expected a heavy punishment. Grunt acted in an opposite manner. His arms swung at his sides, and if Miranda walked close to him, she could hear angry mumbling just beneath his breath. She had to remind herself the the Krogan was still young, less than a month old.

Miranda sat outside the office once they had reached it. It reminded her of school days. Of course, she had never been called to the principal's office for misbehaving, but this was what she assumed it felt like. It took some time, but the shouting inside began to die down, thankfully. Though the actually words used in the conversation could not be heard, the tone could. To say that Shepard was not happy would have been an understatement of massive size. Miranda held back a flinch as something hit the opposite side of the wall. The yelling dropped to something worse. Deadly quiet. Moments ticked by in the quiet.

The door opened. The limping Krogan was the first out, cradling his arm, proud head hung low. The short man was next, Sigismund's face coated in dried bits of blood, his already awkward nose at an odd angle. The two of them stumbled down the hallway towards the elevators. Not a word passed between them as they made their way to Chakwas.

Miranda sidled in the half-open doorway, only to see Shepard holding her head in her hands at her desk. The redheaded woman groaned as Miranda sat opposite her. She rubbed a pair of tired eyes before closing the door at the press of a button.

"Miranda."

"Shepard."

"What the hell is going on, Miranda? We have a xenophobic soldier, and a religious nut of a cyborg mechanic joined by a genetically engineered Krogan, and the most powerful biotic this galaxy has seen. Has Jack, at the very least, kept out of trouble?"

"...As far as I know, yes."

"That pause bothered me, but I have to much to worry about already."

Shepard rose and pulled a brown bottle from the desk's drawer. She uncapped it, pouring it into a glass procured in the same manner.

"Miranda, I have a task for you. I know- hmm. I know you and I have not always been on the _best_ of terms. And I know that we may have different ideas about humanity's place in this galaxy of ours."

Miranda believed that these statements, while strictly true, did not recognize just how much Shepard and her disagreed. But she kept to herself.

"But we both have the same goal. To save the Galaxy from these Collectors. And I need help to do that, Miranda. I can't do this all on my own. I'm no superwoman. I need your help."

Jane tapped the table, and a small Galaxy map appeared. She highlighted Illium, tapping it again to bring up a hologram of the planet. Two text files appeared next to the planet, reading off two dossiers.

"The Assassin and the Justicar can both be found on Illium. I'll be taking Amelie, Garrus, and Tali along with me to try and find this Justicar. Sigismund and Isidor wear their colors on their sleeves, but I still don't know why the Imperials sent Amelie along with us. I intend to find out. Which brings me to my next point: I need you to find the Assassin."

Shepard leaned forward, her eyes boring into Miranda's. The brunette held her gaze.

"With Grunt and Sigismund on your team."

"What? You saw what they did to each other down in the mess hall."

"Which is why I'm sending them with you. They need to learn to work in a team. _You_ need to learn how to work in a team. I don't care who you take on as your third member, just take those two meat-heads with you. A little time working in the field together would do them good."

"If they don't kill each other first! Shepard, I don't think you realize how much they hate the other. That fight started over Sigismund going for the same food that Grunt wanted."

"Yes, I know. I know! They told me the whole story; Sigismund's insults, Grunt's insults, who threw the first blow- All of it. Both claimed to have thrown the first blow, if you were wondering. I never expected someone to be so proud of that."

Her hand closed around the liquid-filled glass. Shepard downed the alcohol in a single shot, grimacing at the taste. One eye peered into the empty glass, disappointment written across Jane's face. She sat the glass back down, staring at it as she spoke.

"This is why you've got to help them learn how to function together. If we don't get this crew of misfits and criminals to work as one, we are going to fail in our mission, and we are going to die fighting the Collectors. Not noble deaths, not sacrifices that save the Galaxy, none of that. If this crew cannot function as a team, we are all going to die messy, brutal, and pointless deaths. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander"

"Oh, don't 'Commander' me. We may disagree on lots of things, but you're a good comrade, and a better operative. It's Jane, or Shepard, to you."

Jane poured another glass of the unidentifiable alcohol and leaned back in her chair.

"We'll be at Illium in a day or two. I suggest you get to know your team. Good luck, Miranda. You'll need it."

* * *

Miranda went to see Grunt first. The Krogan sat in his room by his tank, nursing a bottle of ryncol. A sullen glance was her only welcome. His arm was held in a sling, but it didn't seem to stop him from using it. The computer in front of him played _Deadliest Warrior_ , an Earth show that now displayed a man in period-inaccurate Roman armor fighting another actor dressed in furs more out of a fantasy novel than any historical document. Miranda sat across from Grunt, suppressing her dislike of the Krogan. She may not like the alien, but she was diplomatic enough to know when to keep it hidden.

"Grunt."

"Cerberus Lady."

"Miranda."

"Fine. _Miranda_."

Grunt still refused to meet her gaze. He seemed to prefer the show to her company.

"Grunt, Shepard assigned you to my command for our next mission."

"HA! Why would you want me for your mission? Unless Shepard wanted to have me disposed of... But it's no use. I have no use."

"What do you mean, no use?"

Shouting, Grunt slammed his fist down beside him.

"I am supposed to be the perfect Krogan! Tank-bred for war and combat! I was humiliated by that fight! A human, an unarmed human missing a bodypart, beat me! Okeer failed in his experiments. I am a failure. The 'perfect Krogan' will sit here, drink, and watch this Earth show. I'm not worthy of doing anything else."

"Grunt, Okeer did not make a mistake. I should know, I checked what I could find of his work myself. He was a brilliant geneticist."

Perhaps even greater than her father, Miranda thought, but she kept it to herself.

"That man lifted me off of the ground! I am a Krogan! That puny man lifted me and slammed me back down. He humiliated me in front of the crew."

"Yes, I'm still not sure how he did that. But, Grunt. You broke his nose, almost broke his ribs, and nearly choked the life out of him. It was hardly a one-sided fight."

"The first real fight I get to experience, and it gets broken up before I can finish it. And, I get injured from it!"

"Even great warriors lose fights, Grunt."

Grunt appeared to ignore her, his eyes fixed on the screen. The bottle of ryncol in his hand grew lighter by the moment.

"I bring shame to the Krogan race just by existing. I am not worthy."

"And I'm not your therapist! Look, I need you for my next mission. We might be fighting a lot of mercenaries. Maybe killing some of them would make you feel better."

"Yes... Yes. Yes! A great fight, one to avenge me of this dishonor. HA! It will be a glorious day. That is good advice, Cerberus Lady. A good fight to take the bad one off my mind."

Miranda stepped away, and the Krogan resumed watching his show. His mood had switched suddenly with the idea of fighting once again. She wasn't sure if the rapid change was because of his intoxication or his nature as a Krogan, but she gave it little thought. He seemed a deal less depressed now, laughing as one of the actors was impaled by another on screen. At least he was happy.

As she left Grunt to his ryncol and show, Miranda wondered what to say to the other combatant. Despite his different species, Grunt was at least a known quantity. He was a Krogan, he loved fighting, and he loved killing. Sigismund, on the other hand, was completely unknown. He kept to himself whenever he had free time. Training and exercise took preference over socialization for him. She had not spoken to the man since their meeting on his arrival. In fact, he appeared to actively avoid her when he could. The only crew members he talked to were the cyborg, Zaeed, and Shepard herself. He even kept away from the girl that had arrived with the Imperials. Miranda had received updates from The Illusive Man regarding Cerberus-Imperial relations, but Sigismund showed no sign of becoming more friendly to Jacob or her. The soldier had kept to himself, and appeared to like it that way.

Miranda approached Sigismund's door, and knocked.

"Come in."

The man himself was shirtless before his mirror. His attention focused on trimming his scraggly stubble into a severe mustache with his combat knife. Miranda raised a brow at the sight. Sigismund's entire upper body was a tapestry of scars. His wide back bore the many white scars of a whip, flogged for something, sometime in the distant past. Interspersed were small, healed scrapes and burns, scattered across his back and arms. Shrapnel woulds, maybe. His left shoulder had unclear marks and unfamiliar letters that had been carved in, and scarred out of existence by burns. The number of scars was more than a little unsettling, as was the age of most. Though the scars were more extensive than she had seen before, Miranda had a strong stomach. She was only slightly bothered. What intrigued her more was Sigismund's bulk. The man did not look purely human. His muscles were more reminiscent of a bodybuilder than a soldier, though their strength could not be denied.

He ignored her until he had finished his shaving, leaving a mustache of almost exact geometrical precision. The soldier turned and suppressed a scowl at the sight of her. His nose was crooked, but it had been broken and re-set before. Grunt could not have done much to damage Sigismund's looks. He might have been an average looking man, once, but the old wounds that adorned his face changed that. His chest bore more scars as well. Bruises in the shape of Krogan fists made a patch-work across it. The chest scars included a long one that stretched from almost his shoulder to his side. It was a wonder that he had survived whatever caused that cut.

"Ma'am."

"Sergeant. Shepard appointed me to be your commander for this next mission."

"Congratulations, Ms. Lawson."

"You will be working with Grunt, the Krogan you fought today. I trust that there will be no more of this?"

Miranda gestured to the bruises. Sigismund opened his mouth without saying a word. He closed it, and went to sit on his bed. A needle and thread were drawn out of his pack, along with the shirt he had fought in today. The soldier began to sew together the minor tears the fight had caused.

"There will be no more fighting. To do so would endanger the mission, and the mission is of utmost importance. Our commander, Shepard. She's a good leader. A bit lenient, but a good leader."

"She is."

Miranda leaned against the wall opposite to Sigismund, one heeled boot on the floor, one heeled boot against the wall. She studied the man before her, and he ignored her, focused on his work.

"It's not common for a man to sew."

"There aren't always women around to repair your uniform in the field. And if there are, they usually have better concerns than sewing."

"You don't appear to be hung up about losing the fight."

That struck a nerve with the man. His back stiffened, and the needle paused in it's work. With a visible force of will, Sigismund resumed sewing.

"It does not matter who won. It was immature of me to respond in violence, even if he is a filthy xenos. I may not always understand how Shepard's plans lead us to victory, but she is my commander. I must obey her orders and I must show respect. I failed to do so in fighting the... Krogan."

Sigismund spat the word out as if it were a curse. So, he did have some personality beyond anger and solitude.

"I see. Thank you."

The silence stretched onward. The only sound was the quiet passing of the needle through the cloth of the undershirt. Miranda decided to give the whole affair one last attempt before calling it off.

"I don't suppose you would be willing to talk about your past? We were only given the barest of details in your dossier. It may be helpful to integrate you with your squad members if we knew more about you."

"The dossier is a lie. I don't deserve half those medals."

He pulled the fixed shirt over his head, and pulled a case from his drawer. He kept his eyes on the medals, remaining silent. Miranda sat next to him on his bunk, looking over his shoulder at the case. Sigismund was quiet a while longer. Miranda was about to speak when he moved. His finger pointed to two miniature crossed swords, with short blue and yellow ribbon attached beneath.

"This is my Duelist's Honors. It shows that I am skilled swordsman. I received it during Grenbleu fields."

Sigismund's eyes had grown glassy. He stared into the medal case without seeing. His mind was in the past.

"The landscape was to rough for a traditional armored approach. Our Chimeras, those are our APCs, our Chimeras formed a wall of metal, and we dug trenches. I was a corporal at that time, leading five men under my Sergeant. The Orks had overrun most of the cities, so it was up to use to get them out. The Warboss led a surprise charge against our lines. He was, oh, 10 feet tall or so. Nothing but muscle and hate. He taunted us in Low Gothic, so we knew he could speak our tongue. Our coms officer had already died."

Sigismund's hands began to shake. The lid on his words came off, and the story came pouring out of him. Miranda had never expect him to share much besides a few boasts, let alone this.

"My sergeant was the next to go, from a Orkish bolt shell. We had no chance of survival. So I challenged-"

He broke off his story, choking back a harsh laugh.

"I challenged the Warboss to a duel. I don't know why I did it. Maybe I just wanted to die quicker than the others. But I pulled on the coms equipment, called in a strike on my direct position, and challenged the Warboss to a duel. I survived for a few minutes. The Warboss was playing with me. All I had was a barely working chainsword. But he got tired of playing with me, grabbed my leg, and threw me. The coms pack came off, I landed under a half-destroyed Chimera, and the missile strike came down. My fingers were crushed, but I guess my Da kept the Emperor looking over me. I survived the strike. The other survivors thought that I was hero, and the story got exaggerated to me singlehandedly dueling a Warboss to death. The commanders liked it that way. Better for moral."

Sigismund's shaking hands slowly steadied. He didn't offer another word. Miranda did not know what to do. She may have been trained in diplomacy and negotiation, but she was far from being a therapist. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand and placed it on Sigismund's shoulder. She did not understand half of what he said, but it obviously took some effort to say. But one thing in his story stood out to her.

"Your... your father?"

"Never knew him, only knew stories. Better that way, I suppose. He was a Catachan guardsman stationed on Armageddon for a bit. Met my mother, a factory worker, and well, here I am. He left me only his strength, nothing else. My mother, poor woman, used to sing me songs about him."

In that moment, the rough and scarred soldier looked like nothing more than a child. His broken voice began to sing a quiet, off-tune melody:

"Mother's here, Dad's in Space

We're all easy to replace

The lights are out, so night's begun

Don't ask where we got your blanket from

The manufactorum owns us all

The assembly line in the great hall

We don't know what we build or why

Don't look your betters in the eye.

So sleep now son and do not fret

Four hours is more than I'll ever get

Fear the visions slumber brings

And do not dream of better things,

Do not dream of better things."

Miranda thought she saw a tear, but it quickly disappeared beneath Sigismund's craggy brow. She was uncomfortable. She removed her hand from his shoulder, folding them in her lap. She could not remember the last time someone had been so open with her. More to ease the awkwardness than anything else, she began to speak.

"I never knew my mother. I never had one. I was, well, designed. My father was obsessed with creating the perfect human. My looks, my strength, my reflexes, were all made to give me an edge."

A strange look came over Sigismund's scarred face.

"How much of you is gene-altered?"

"A good amount. Physically, I'm superior in many ways. I heal quickly and will likely live much longer than the average human. My biotic ability's are very advanced, for a human."

"Biotics? You mean that you're a psyker?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"But, you don't have any taint?"

"Thank you?"

"A psyker, free of warp-taint, and designed to be perfect. An imitation of the Astartes themselves."

"I'm still human, Sigismund. I still make mistakes."

He grunted in reply, still staring at the medal case. His head shook in slight disbelief. He repeated himself.

"An imitation of the Astartes themselves."

"My mistakes have consequences, just like anyone else. But my consequences are more severe. People expect more when you have greater abilities."

"My regiment expects me to out duel the Emperor's Traitor sons. An impossible feat. People's expectations can be hard to live up to. I understand, I think"

Sigismund turned his head from his medals to Miranda. She felt something welling up inside her, and tried to suppress her emotions as she always had. He gave her a single nod, and replaced his medals in their drawer.

"You're a good person, Miranda. Gene-altered for perfection. I'll stand by you when you need me to."

She got up to leave. Her eyes closed, and she tried to bury herself in thinking of her work.

"Miranda?"

Her hand was on the doorframe, her foot out the door. She paused, not daring to look back. She couldn't be see as weak. She couldn't.

"Thank you."

Sigismund's gravelly voice echoed in her mind as she left. She blinked, and pulled up her omnitool again. It was time to work. She had to focus on that now, and nothing else. Still, a small smile wormed it's way across her face.

* * *

 **AN: Well, here we go! Back with the Normandy crew for a few chapters. The song is taken and slightly altered from 'The Emperor's Beard', a pretty good 40k related webcomic. I feel pretty happy with this chapter, which is a nice change. We'll get back to the action in a bit. Also, do any of you have a favorite character so far? A least favorite one? I'm always looking to improve my writing, so any feedback is appreciated. Speaking of feedback...**

 **BrotherCaptainSheperd: There's a whole story arch in planning for Asari-Imperial relations, but I don't know if it will happen during the time of ME2 or ME3. But it certainly doesn't involve sanctioned xeno status. Though, I will say that at least one xeno species is planned to become allies with the Imperials. Not saying which one yet.**

 **ShiggyDiggered: Thank you! And I agree. As for damaging the Leman Russ tank treads, well... Imperial Guard equipment is meant to be tough, almost unreasonably so given their designs. But there are weak-points on everything. Even a man with a WW 1 era weapon could damage a modern tank, if it hit in just the right position. Plus, I want to Imperials to be overpowered, but not invincible.**

 **CapitalClassShip: The Shadow Broker will be in one of the upcoming chapters, hopefully.**

 **dekuton: Pollux messes with some shady xeno-tech as well, being a Rogue Trader. I don't plan on TIM becoming indoctrinated in this story. Ratling will probably make it in as well, don't worry.**

 **Xeano: Thank you! If someone made fan-art of that, I would love it. Or in the unlikely event someone made fanart of this story, I would love that too.**

 **Patsmckraken: Thanks for pointing that out. Fixed.**

 **Guest: The Space Wolves, as much as I love them, won't be making an appearance in this story. Neither will any Space Marines. I do love their lore, but given how rare they are in 40k, they are given much to much attention, especially in cross-overs.**

 **November Red: Thanks for the advice! I would have included more of the Batarian perspective, but that chapter was supposed to only be from Imperial POV. I might re-write it when I have time, and flesh out that whole battle a bit more when I can. It felt a bit rushed, but I did want to get you guys a chapter.**

 **Whitewolfie28: Thank you! I agree, to many cross-overs don't show how hateful the Imperium can get.**

 **And I would love to write responses to all of the replies, but I don't want this section to get too long. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	12. Chapter 12: In the Dark

In the dark of the night sky, there lurks evil. And in the unknown and unconquered areas of Terminus system there is no light.

There lives those hidden and secret things that are better left alone.

Everyone knows it. It's something that drill instructors attempt to force out of a Turian's mind. It's something that no SPECTRE should believe.

Yet, somewhere in the back of Maxna Gavtumus's head, the primordial fear lingered.

There had been rumors from spacers out in the Terminus system for two weeks now. Rumors of decreased Batarian raids, and of devastated Batarian ships. Rumors of abandoned pirate worlds, with half the slaves slaughtered. Normally, the Council would not investigate. The Batarians were not part of the council. The four-eyes had made that quite clear, and the Council, as intrusive as it was, did not want to cause an incident. Besides. They were only Batarians. Maxna Gavtumus gave them little thought, just as his superiors did.

However, it was no longer only Batarian ships that had gone missing. Two Asari merchant vessels and a Turian recon ship that had been sent to check on them had stopped reporting in. The last messages had consisted of desperate pleas for help and distress beacons being activated. This is what had caught the Council's attention. No news outlets had reported the events, as the information was still classified. But it had become clear that there was something lurking in the stars of the Terminus system. Something violent, and something that probably did not like Batarians. Therefore, SPECTRE Maxna Gavtumus had been ordered to investigate.

He commanded a mixed race cruiser for the mission, though the majority of crew were still Turian. Though Maxna did not consider himself to be racist, he preferred to have Turians at his back over any others. The other crew members consisted of a few Asari, and several Salarian scientists. There was an Asari diplomat on board as well. Whatever lurked in the stars, the Council was determined to at least attempt diplomatic overtures. They did not want a repeat of the First Contact war.

The crew was a good one. Professional, well-trained, and with years of experience under their belts. While Maxna had not chosen them himself, he trusted in his superior's decisions.

The closest and most recent distress beacon was one from the Asari merchant vessel. The system it was in was of little note, empty save for a few abandoned science stations scattered across the three planets. The trip through the Mass Relay was uneventful, and the system appeared deserted. The distress beacon called them to the orbit of the third planet from the system's sun, a desert world.

As soon as the sensors were in range, Asari First Officer Rarima brought the image of the ship on screen. In the first few seconds, no-one spoke. By all appearances, the ship was undamaged. There were no burns, no exposed sections, and no apparent attack. The blinking light of the beacon looked to be the only indicator of any distress at all. Something is wrong here, Maxna thought. Something is very wrong.

Rarima looked to him, a question on her lips. "Sir? What are your orders?"

"Prep a shuttle. Keep the shields up and weapons primed. This may be a trap, but we have no choice but to investigate. I'll be aboard with my team. We'll check in every fifteen minutes. If we don't, I need you to leave and inform the council."

"Sir-"

"Do it. We don't know what we're dealing with here."

* * *

A few minutes later, Maxna entered the cargo hold of the merchant vessel with his companions. Two Turian soldiers, Procruis and Amlius, and an Asari commando named Morlenea. They had been his chosen team for almost a decade at this point. They had fought with him through countless battles, and explored unnumbered locations with him. Maxna trusted them with his life.

The cargo hold had been stripped completely. Nothing remained of the food shipment that the logs claimed this ship held. While Maxna was no stranger to the odd accounting merchants occasionally used to avoid tariffs, it was clear this was not the case. Crates had been tipped over and emptied, shipping containers holding nothing but stale air. The team remained silent. Obeying Maxna's hand gestures, they spread across the hold, prodding crates with barrels. For the first few moments, the silence remained. Then Maxna heard Procruis whistle in surprise.

The team gathered behind Procruis. He was staring at the side of a shipping container. The cargo hold workers were arrayed before him. Or, what had once been the cargo hold workers.

Each had been eviscerated. There was not a single corpse that was not missing at least one limb. Sightless eyes stared in horror, mouths open in silent screams. At least ten bodies had been piled against the container's side. A severed arm had been crammed fist first into its former owner's mouth, blue Asari blood drenching the corpse's front. A different worker appeared to have been sawn in half. Organs and innards stretched across the pile of bodies, a spray of blood covering them. Through Maxna knew it could not be true, the severed torso looked to have been thrown away from its lower half. Burn marks had thankfully cauterized several of the decapitated workers, though others had less… clean cuts. Flesh and clothing was torn and ripped alike. A puddle of blood surrounded the corpses. If the workers had put up a fight, no record of their opponent's casualties remained.

More disturbing than the pile of destroyed bodies was the writing on the shipping container above it. In human lettering, painted in the slain's blood, five letters had been written.

"X - E - N - O - S" Morlenea spelt out the letters. "From a dead human language. Meaning alien, or foreign."

Maxna did not enjoy what the implication of the word. He opened a comms channel back to his ship. "Rarima. Encountered the bodies of some of the crew. Possible connections of attack to human extremist groups. See if we have intel on any Cerberus activities in nearby systems."

The four continued to stare at the dead before them. Amlius knelt before one, lifting up a limp arm to expose a torn stomach, viscera spilling out. It was not a clean cut. The flesh had been torn and shredded at the edges. Whoever had done this was not using the weapons of a civilized race. Morlenea wrinkled her nose in disgust. The SPECTRE and his operatives were veterans. They were no strangers to bloodshed. But this brutality was... unusual, at the very least.

Amlius stood, flipping the safety off. He turned his back to the bodies, aiming into the flickering darkness of the hold.

"The blood is fresh! Repeat, the blood is fresh! Whatever did this is still on the ship!"

Maxna dived into position behind a crate, Procruis joining him. Amlius and Morlenea hid behind a crate ten meters from them.

The flickering lights shut off with a clank. The four waited in the darkness, their flashlights the only brightness. Maxna forced his breathing to slow, calming himself. He overhead Procruis humming the Turian anthem to himself quietly. Nothing happened. No noise could be heard besides the sounds of the SPECTRE and his team. Maxna had almost fooled himself into a sense of security when he heard it.

A howl echoed across the hold.

Maxna now realized that his earlier guess had been wrong. Nothing human could have made that sound.

The lone howl was joined by others. One more, two more, then too many to count.

The howl silenced itself, it's fellows joining suit.

"What in the Maiden's name-"

Morlenea's question was cut off but a strange, ragged choking sound. Like the howls, it multiplied. The whirring noise filled the air, the howls beginning again, staggered and savage. Maxna peered over the crate into the darkness of the hold, shining his flashlight into the black.

He wished he never had.

In dark shadows stood monsters. Horns grew from malformed skulls, shaggy hair covering the creatures' flesh. Blood matted the fur, no doubt from the cargo workers. Dozens of the monsters stood in the hold. Each held a strange blade, with hooked teeth whirring down the weapon's spine. Some had spears. A few had spears that held impaled Asari heads on the blade.

Black, soulless eyes reflected the flashlight. The monster in fore did not blink.

It charged.

With a cry, the SPECTRE and his team sprung into action. Amlius and Procrius fired wildly into the charging horde, standing and slowly retreating. Morlenea slammed her hands forward, sending out a biotic blast that flung the creatures in the fore back into their comrades.

"RETREAT! RETREAT! TO THE DOORS!"

Maxna yelled, firing in controlled bursts at the beasts. Each projectile carved bloody furrows in the skin of the monsters, though all wore breastplates that blocked most bullets. Maxna shot another burst, one of the beasts going down, red blood spurting from between it's eyes. There were to many, and they were too close. Morlenea pushed the monsters back again with her biotics, and the team ran to the closest door.

One leading deeper into the ship.

The monsters pursued them. Beastial howls and inhuman grunts followed their footsteps. A thrown spear caught Procruis in the leg, pinning him to the floor. The sealed door slammed shut with him still outside. Maxna looked on as the beasts caught up with his friend of ten years, the door's small window providing an excellent view. The beast in the lead, the largest, grabbed Procruis by the neck. And pulled. The proud Turian screamed as the spear tore through his leg, the fore beast lifting him up by the throat. The howls had died down as the door had closed and the monsters saw that their prey had escaped.

The fore beast stomped over to the door, its ugly eyes peering in at the watching three. The still living Procruis gasped in pain. The beast holding him slammed the Turian against the window. Procruis had his carapace cracked, blue blood dripping down the window, one eye no longer seeing. Maxna's hand trembled. He knew he could not open the door. To do so was death. But he could at least grant his friend the honor of watching him die.

Procruis slammed against the door again. And once more. The beast did not stop until the Turian's head was nothing but a ruin of shattered carapace, gore, and blue blood. The monster tossed the broken body to the ground. The soulless eyes peered through the window again. It spoke.

" **Beastman bad. Dirty. Emperor no like.** "

The creature pointed to the corpse of Procruis. Morlenea, Maxna, and Amlius could do nothing but stare through the window in horror and shock as the monster continued.

" **Beastmen love Emperor. Beastman give heads to Emperor.** "

The ugly, shaggy face of the beastman was shoved against the window, it's hot breath fogging it up.

" **Your heads.** "

The beast threw back it's head and laughed. The horrific sound was soon echoed by its brethren. The fore beastman stalked back to the horde, kicking the corpse of Procruis as it went.

"We need to go. Now."

Morlenea's voice brought Maxna back to reality. She was right. She always was. He activated his comms device on his omni-tool.

"Rarima? Rarima, report."

Static replied back.

"Rarima?"

No response.

Hooves slammed down into the ground outside as the beastmen worked themselves into a frenzy. Maxna felt a small amount of pride swell in his chest, as he saw the fallen beastmen beyond the ones gathered by the door. Outnumbered by nightmarish monsters, his team had still managed to hurt the other. The doorway frame shook as a beastman hurled himself against it.

"Let's go before they figure out how to get the damn thing down. Amlius, options?"

The Turian blinked, looking away from the window. He had fought alongside Procruis for longer than Maxna.

"We need to get to the bridge. There should be equipment there to contact Rarima and the other ship. We might also be able to vent the cargo hold into the vacuum."

Maxna nodded, and his team walked deeper into the Asari merchant vessel.

None spoke. Their boots clacked against the sterile floor. Amlius fiddled with his omnitool, looking through the blueprint of the ship. He wandered ahead, attempting to lead the way. The lights above continued to flicker irregularly. Something was wrong with the power supply. Maxna felt a hand on his shoulder. Morlenea was at his side, looking up at him with those pale eyes of hers.

"It's not your fault, Maxna Gavtumus."

Maxna gently moved her hand from his shoulder.

"Don't tell me lies, Morlenea. Besides, if anyone needs comforting, it's Amlius."

"Mmmmm. I know you're a SPECTRE, and that you need to be seen as invincible, but remember. It's alright to care. Procruis was a good friend."

"That he was. But we cannot focus on the dead. We must fight for the living. Come on."

Amlius turned a corner before Morlenea and Maxna caught up to them. He had frozen so abruptly that the two almost ran into him. The Turian stared at the image on the door before him, written in the blue blood of the Asari.

 _BURN THE HERETIC_

 _KILL THE XENO_

 _PURGE THE UNCLEAN_

The three looked at the writing. Amlius broke the silence.

"This is the door to the mess hall. The elevator to the bridge should be just a little bit further."

Amlius pressed a button to the side of the door, and it hissed open. The mess hall lay before them. Tables had been erected into hasty barricades. Some had been sawn in half by the horrible weapons of the beasts beneath. Others appeared to have been broken by what could have only been a battering ram. A few corpses littered the area, spattered red blood mixing with the blue. The three entered, gingerly picking their way through. Before they had taken more than three steps, a harsh, loud choking sound echoed around the hall's corner. The SPECTRE and his team threw themselves to the side, waiting for an attack. None came, though they could now hear voices from around the corner.

" **HAH, HAH, HAH. THAT WAS GOOD JOKE.** "

" **HAH HAH YES. IS GOOD. HAKIM TOLD IT TO ME.** "

" **HAKIM GOOD.** "

" **YES.** "

" **YES.** "

Maxna peered around the corner. Three things sat in a circle, on of the mess hall tables before them. The creatures were monsterously huge. Even sitting, they were taller than Morlenea. Squashed, misshapen faces leered at each other. But the strangest part of it all was how close to humanity they looked. While they had more muscle than even the strongest human athlete could hope to amass, the similarities were too much to ignore. Was Cerberus trying it's hand at genetic engineering? It would not have been the first time the human supremacist group would have meddled in places better left alone, though it would be the first time they would have succeeded in such a stable looking strain. Were the beastmen down in the hold from similar efforts?

Whatever the case, the giants blocked the path forward. Maxna crouched behind the corner again. He held up three fingers, before spreading his hands wide. Maxna and Amlius pulled out grenades. Morlenea's biotics glowed softly around her hands.

Maxna burst from around the corner, his comrades close behind him. Two inferno grenades burst into the flames amidst the giants, the heat spreading quickly. Maxna switched to his rifle, holding down the trigger on the giant closest to him. Amlius did the same. Focus fire was the best way to take down larger enemies. Unfortunately, it did not seem to be enough.

The giant they shot at roared through the fire engulfing it. The projectiles fired at it scored bloody hits in its thick flesh, tearing away fresh skin and burn alike. It had some sort of metal club in one hand, the other raising a shield to block some of the bullets fired. The flaming giant charged forward, it's shield slamming into Amlius and breaking him against the wall. Maxna continued to fire into the back of the creature's thick skull, wasting and entire heat sink into the monster's head. The giant craned its head from looking at the pasted Amlius, blood streaming down from the wounds to the back of its head, flames crackling its skin.

Maxna knew fear.

Amlius fired his rifle once more into the monster's head. Finally, the giant realized that it was dead. It dropped, allowing Amlius to fall to the ground next to it. His spine had been crushed by the giant's charge.

Morlenea had been fighting against the two others on her own, the blue light of her biotics contrasting the angry red of the inferno grenades remains. One of the giants had been tossed backwards, denting the bulwark with its weight. She struggled against the other, tossing up biotic barriers angrily smashed away by the roaring monster.

" **YOU ARE NO MATCH FOR ME! LET THIS BE LESSON TO YOU!** "

The metal club of the giant, despite its primitive nature, did not bend or even break against Morlenea's biotics. The Asari caught Maxna's gaze, a look of terror in her eyes. She sent out a biotic wave towards the giant, throwing it backwards, and ran with Maxna towards the exit of the mess hall. The giant arose, his stomping feet and mocking cries following them.

" **RUUUUUUN! RUUUN! I AM COMING FOR YOU!** "

Maxna ran.

He held his rifle behind him, firing intermediately. Morlenea ran beside him. The Asari was running low on breath. The two dove into the elevator before them. Maxna kicked at the control panel, the doors slamming shut. The last image he saw was of the giant, blood streaming down its face, patches of skin burnt, a cybernetic red eye filled with hate. Hate towards him. Him and Morlenea.

The elevator began to rise as Morlenea and Maxna stood. Morlenea slumped against the wall. Maxna reloaded his rifle. Neither spoke. Neither needed to speak. The silence said everything. Maxna attempted to contact Rarima once more. Nothing. He had to hope the bridge had what they needed.

The light flickered on the display, announcing their arrival at the bridge. Morlenea took one side of the doors, Maxna took the other. They waited for a few moments. No shots were fired into the container. No growls, roars, or battle-cries were shouted.

Instead, a calm, commanding voice spoke from inside the bridge.

"I've been waiting for you. You surprise me. You do! Your movements do not hold the grace of the Eldar, nor the brutality of Orks, yet you have still managed to fight through the ab-humans below. I am not ashamed to admit that I am impressed."

Maxna drew his final grenade from a pouch. He held it tightly in his hand. Morlenea's soft blue hands created a soft blue glow of biotic power.

"You have committed crimes against the Council and it's representatives. You have stolen cargo from innocent merchants, and have butchered dozens. You have _killed_ two of my team. Two of my friends"

"Oh, my dear fool. They were only xenos."

Maxna's hand tightened around the grenade. His breathing quickened. Morlenea was trembling. Her poise, her shaky movement, all of it showed how eager she was to charge out and kill the speaker. Maxna held back for the moment. He needed to get more information out of the speaker before he killed him. The speaker continued to talk, loving the sound of his own voice.

"But all is not yet lost for you. Come out with your hands up, and I will at least grant your partner a quick demise. You, well, we need some information out of you before we give you up to the warp."

The elevator dinged, and the doors began to slowly close. There was no longer any time left. Maxna threw the inferno grenade around the corner, diving through the closing doors to open fire. Morlenea leaped after him, sending out a shockwave across the room.

None of it had any effect. Upon the captain's chair sat a human in a black trench-coat and cap, a scarlet sash running down his chest. Next to him stood another human, a biotic. Crackling lightning leapt from the biotic's fingertips, launching out to create a shield protecting the two. Maxna's bullets were absorbed by the shield, Morlenea's shockwave ignored.

Maxna's head snapped to the side as Morlenea screamed. The armor and flesh on her shoulder had evaporated, black and charred burn lines working their way across her body. A cloud of steam erupted from the spot. A crack could be heard, and Morlenea's head matched her shoulder.

The human who had shot her huddled to the side with several others, their rifles trained on him.

Maxna no longer cared. He held the trigger down on his rifle, aiming at the group. The tan-coated human who had shot Morlenea went down first, red blood spraying up at the impacts. It appeared that these humans did not have biotic shielding. A second died by his hand before his rifle exploded to the noise of a deafening bang. Maxna drew his knife, jumping forward. A second bang, and he could no longer feel his leg. He slumped against the ground.

The bootsteps of the human with the cap vibrated through the floor. Maxna felt himself loosing consiciousness, and only heard the final words of the capped human.

"Bind him, and find something to stop the bleeding. We need _something_ to interrogate."

* * *

 **AN: I'm back! Apologies for the long break, real life and university classes unfortunately take priority over Fanfiction. In addition, due to an increased schedule for my non-fanfic writing, I will be unable to update the story more than once a month. However, once Summer dawns again, we'll be back to about once a week updates.**

 **As for questions about the above chapter, let me see if I can answer them before they are asked: The vast majority of the above Imperials are ab-humans - Beastmen in the cargo-hold, and Ogryns in the mess-hall. The chapter is also an attempt to show you all the balancing of 40k vs ME tech on a smaller scale. 40k infantry weaponry is advanced, but ME can mostly hold their own, as the gap is not gigantic. 40k Autorifles are equivalent to ME assault rifles. 40k Flak armour protects somewhat well against autorifles, therefore it protects somewhat well against ME weapons.**

 **If you have any questions, suggestions, ideas, constructive criticism, or any other comments, please! Let me know in your reviews! I'm really trying to not break the lore of either setting so if I make a mistake, point it out and I'll try to fix it.**

 **Now, on to reviews!**

Manwithaplan113: Thanks! And, according to the books on the wars for Armageddon, there's been more than a few Catachan regiments that have fought on Armageddon. It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination for a little romance to happen between a thankful hiver and a Guardsman looking to blow off some steam

Prince Sheogorath: I'm mostly with you. The chapters focused around Illium should be the last bit of the story that truly follows the normal ME storyline. Things will change, and the other Imperials will get their time in the spotlight

A Random Friend: Thank you! I agree about the Normandy chapters. It's hard to write for characters that you didn't come up with, and trying to include some of the game's original dialogue. Hopefully I'll get better at it. And no worries. Miranda and Sigismund will probably just be friends.

FriendlyOrcWaaagh: Thanks for the idea, man! Hope this lived up to your expectations.

Crismon Fist 99: Nah, it's not a coincidence ;). The Black Templars fought on Armageddon and are responsible for saving millions. Sigismund was named after the original High Marshall, just like Sebastian Yarrick was named after the Hero of the Imperium Sebastian Thor. Names get re-used.

leo1811: Yes, Imperial ships cannot jump through the 40k verse warp without the Astronomicon. But the ME warp did not suffer through the War in Heaven, and there are no Eldar to have made Slannesh. Without the Chaos Gods, the warp is clean, and the Navigators are able to, well, navigate without the Chaos blocking things out. I'll get into more detail about it as the story goes on though.

 **Sorry I couldn't respond to all the reviews, but thank you all for all the support you've given the story. The next chapter will be up in February, as soon as I have the time to write it.**


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